Not Better, Just Different
by Haleine Delail
Summary: Martha and the Doctor go back on the road together after the Year that Never Was, and make a one-year pact. It's the series of adventures many of us would have liked to have seen. At journey's end, where will the road have taken them?
1. Prologue

**OKAY, I'M BACK - AND THIS FIC IS A FAIRLY DIFFICULT UNDERTAKING, I SHOULD THINK. I'M NOT SURE HOW IT'S GOING TO GO. IT'S RATHER EXPERIMENTAL.**

**THIS IS NOT PART OF THE TEN/MARTHA SERIES I'VE BEEN WORKING ON, IN WHICH THEY ARE A COUPLE. THEIR RELATIONSHIP HERE IS MORE CANONICAL - AT LEAST IT WILL START OUT THAT WAY, AND HONESTLY, I CAN'T SAY WHERE IT WILL END UP. ****AFTER THE PROLOGUE, YOU MAY SEE WHERE I'M GOING WITH IT, AND WHAT I MEAN BY "NOT BETTER, JUST DIFFERENT." **

**AND I REALIZE IT DOESN'T PACK QUITE THE PUNCH OF THE FIRST CHAPTERS OF MY LAST TWO EPICS, BUT I LIKE TO THINK IT'S SLEEPILY INTRIGUING. :-)**

**_FEEL FREE TO OFFER CRITICISMS - BUT BE KIND! I'M FRAGILE. ALL ALONG THE WAY, I WILL WELCOME YOUR SUGGESTIONS! PLEASE!_**

* * *

PROLOGUE

She shut her phone and smiled – medical school had taken up so much of her time lately, she hadn't had a chance at romance in over a year, even before she met the Doctor. But she vowed, not anymore. And bollocks to whatever her mum said about being too aggressive. She liked Tom Milligan, and in this reality, he was still alive, as were tens of thousands of others, thanks to her and the Doctor.

And then she looked up and saw the police box. She had always known that when one door closes, another opens – life had a way of working itself out that way. But then the reverse must also be true. In order for a door to open, another must close. Perhaps that was pessimistic, but she chose to think of it as realism. If she was going to be a doctor, she had to deal with real life now.

She went inside. He saw the spark of sadness on her face straight away, but chose to ignore it. He thought he could talk his way out of it, as he did everything else. This, he always saw. When she was sad or scared or homesick or worried about her sister, he could practically read her mind, and usually knew what to say (although sometimes, he _spectacularly _did not). And she loved that about him.

Actually, she sort of loved everything about him.

Which is why she also felt something other than sadness when she went inside. It was something she always felt when she saw him. Blue suit today, dark shirt, dark tie – interesting choice, but dapper as always. And oh, _achingly_ handsome… _brutally._ Nothing new, at least not to her, but _God _how was she going to walk away from this?

That little surge of lust or love or whatever it was… _that, _he didn't see. That, he had never seen in two years, including one that had been erased. And whether he was simply thick or chose not to notice, it no longer mattered. Either way, she couldn't live with it anymore.

But before she could walk away, of course, he had to make it hard.

He peeked out from behind the console. "Right then! Off we go! The open road!" he yelled. "There is a burst of starfire right now off the coast of Meta Sigma Polonia. Oh, the sky is like oil on water. Fancy a look?"

She walked toward him, her face unchanged. She was determined. No more starfire.

"Or, back in time! We could… I dunno, Charles II? Henry VIII?" he suggested, now firing up the magnificent machine. "I know! Agatha Christie! I'd love to meet Agatha Christie, bet she's brilliant!"

And that's when he couldn't sustain it. She actually thought he'd go on for a lot longer than that. His face fell, and she smiled a bit. She wasn't sure why.

"Okay," he said.

She nodded in agreement. "I just can't."

"Yeah."

"Spent all these years training to be a doctor, now I've got people to look after," she said. Even as it was coming out of her mouth, she knew it was just an excuse. It was the truth, but it was an excuse. Perhaps even he knew it too. "They saw half the planet slaughtered and they're devastated. I can't leave them."

"Of course not," he said, clenching his teeth. At last, he smiled. It was that crooked half-smile that always made her knees weak. She was determined not to show it, not that he'd ever notice. "Thank you."

And he moved to hug her. For a split second, she thought of telling him it was better not to, just have a clean break, blah blah blah. But it was their last few moments together, and she knew she needed to allow them both some closure, it was only fair. So they hugged, and it felt _amazing_ as always.

After a long moment, they pulled away from each other, and he said, "Martha Jones, you saved the world."

"Yes, I did," she agreed. "I spent a lot of time with you thinking I was second best, but you know what? I am good!"

He chuckled, as did she.

"You going to be all right?" she asked. She was genuinely worried that he'd eventually die of loneliness. He was a man of many friends, many faces, but he was always lonely. If she lied to herself really well, she could convince herself that that's why she travelled with him.

"Always, yeah," he told her, not very convincingly.

"Right then," she whispered. "Bye." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and walked away. Through the door, out of his life…

* * *

In the ten seconds she was gone, he finally saw it. Or at least he thought he did.

_Oh, God, no wonder she's leaving_.

_I am a daft old man. I can see through time and space. I can probe the minds of man and beast, I can spot a glitch in a transmetaversal remainderant anticircuit even when its pulse monitoring tones haven't been wielded or even adjusted. But I can't see when I'm completely trampling on the feelings of someone I depend upon._

"I spent a lot of time with you thinking I was second best," she had said. Oh, she had said some other stuff before and after it, but… had he really made her feel that way? Second best? She might have been the cleverest human he'd ever known – had he really never told her that? Had he been so bloody wrapped up in… yes, he had!

She'd accused him of being on the rebound when they were in New New York. He thought she was mad. But let's examine.

The very first night they met, he'd been very harsh with her. He made _very _clear that she was no replacement, and had reminded her over and over and over that she'd be sent home as soon as this trip or that trip was finished. Come on – who wants to travel that way?

When they were together at the inn with Shakespeare, she looked at him wistfully, and what had he said? "Rose would know what to do." Martha had turned over in a huff and blown out the candle.

When he was out of his mind as John Smith, he had shown her, at one point, a drawing of a woman that kept popping up in his dreams. What was her name again? Oh yes. Hell, and he'd even invited Joan Redfern to come along and "start again" with him, whatever that meant. What kind of gratitude was that toward the woman who had looked after him for three _long_ months and been treated like a servant?

Blimey, he was lucky she hadn't blown up the TARDIS with him inside.

But, to his surprise and relief, she came back. Without a bomb in her hand.

"Cause, the thing is," she said, bursting back in. "It's like my friend Vicky. She lived with this bloke. Student housing, there were five of them all packed in, and this bloke was called Sean. And she loved him. She did! She completely adored him, spent all day long talking about him!"

As Martha told the story, her face lit up remembering her friend. But he couldn't help wondering aloud, "Is this going anywhere?"

"Yes!" she insisted. He felt quite put-in-his-place, and nodded awkwardly, waiting for her to continue. And then she dropped the bomb. "'Cause he never looked at her twice."

So that's what it was about.

_SO THAT'S WHAT THIS WAS ABOUT??_

_I knew I was old and daft but am I really _that_ old? That I can't see when a woman fancies me? Someone I like? Someone who's brilliant and funny and beautiful? I see everyone else in the universe flirting with me now that I'm… well… but the person I'm closest to who actually _loves_ me, and _knows_ me? Noooo, that would be too easy._

Oh, the Joan thing was a huge bullet-dodge. If she had said yes, Martha would have killed them both in their sleep.

Calmly, she continued her story. "I mean, he liked her – that was it. And she wasted years pining after him, years of her life, 'cause while he was around, she never looked at anyone else. And I told her, I always said to her time and time again, I said _get out_."

There was a pause. He waited for the fatal blow – he wondered if she would stop speaking in third person soon and lay it out on the table. She was talking about herself, and she loved him.

"So this is me, getting out," she said. Well, there it was.

Some sort of knot was forming at the base of his neck, where the throat meets the shoulders. It was like she was pulling a burlap cord around him, and choking his hearts as well. She was "getting out," now, and it was his fault. She'd leave, and she'd always harbour some feeling there, whether it be love or doubt or resentment, and he couldn't let her walk away with that. He couldn't have her go on with her life thinking that he'd let her go after he knew all this. She was pouring her heart out here… what kind of friend would he be if he didn't try to stop her? Promise to make things better… or at least different?

"Martha, no," he said, stepping forward.

She was surprised. Had she not expected him to try and stop her? Apparently not.

But her surprise turned quickly to a sad resignation. "Doctor, I have to. Staying with you would be like… I don't know, walking around with a soiled bandage or something."

"Thank you," he said flatly.

"Sorry, bad analogy. I just mean if you keep wallowing in the thing that's hurting you just because it's easier or it feels good, then," she shrugged. "You'll never get past the hurt."

"I've been hurting you," he said. It was a statement, a confession.

She looked at him with a bit of pity and a lot of regret. She wished she had chosen her words more carefully. "Not on purpose," she assured him. "I know that."

"I could have been more…"

"Don't do that. Just leave it. I love you, but I have to say goodbye, okay?"

"It's not okay," he muttered. He felt like a child and like a boiling pot of oil, all at once.

"Doctor, what I want from you, you can't give me. I have accepted that."

"How do you know?"

"How do I know what?"

"How do you know that I can't give you what you want?"

"Do you know what I want?" she asked.

"I can guess."

She put one hand on her hip. "Really? Amaze me." She expected the worst. She expected him to sputter and hem and haw and get all awkward…

"You want to be the centre of my universe," he said. "You want to know that you're the favourite, that there's no one in Creation I'd rather travel with."

Another surprise. "Yes," she said. "That's what I want. Partly."

The Doctor seemed at a loss now. He knew very well what she meant, but it seemed he couldn't bring himself to say it. So she did.

"Yes, I need to know that there's no one in the universe, _including Rose_, who is as important to you as I am – there I said it." She took a long sigh. She had named names!

She went on. "I need to be your favourite, the one you need, the one you depend on. I want to believe that I'm indispensible to you. Just like you said – all of it." She took a deep breath. "And… I want you to love me. I want you to take all that need, all that dependance, all that centre-of-the-universe stuff and wake up one day soon realising that you're madly in love with me, and you can't live one more second without telling me so or your heart will burst. I want you not to be able to keep your hands off me. I want you to feel so empty when you're not with me that you're distracted by it, and so on fire when you _are_ with me that you're biting your fingers to keep from tearing my clothes off. And do you know why? Because that's how I feel about you. And to feel that way and not have it returned is _awful_. Horrible. Can you understand that?"

"Yes," he told her simply.

"Yes? And?"

"Okay," he said.

"Okay what?" she asked, more than a little annoyed that he had merely responded to the question rather than show any sign that he understood or had been moved by what she'd said.

"Okay. I will make you the centre of my universe."

"Doctor…"

"I _do _need you, Martha. I _do_ depend on you. You _are _indispensible to me. And if you walk away now, whoever takes your place will only live in your shadow. Give me a chance to make it right for everyone."

"You can't force yourself to make me the centre of your universe, you just can't," she said to him, almost whining now.

"But you already are!" He blurted this out without thinking, and then acted almost as though he were embarrassed about it. It was one of the most genuine emotions she had ever heard him express.

This choked her up, but she didn't want to show it. She crossed her arms defensively and looked away. She leaned on one hip, and said, "It's not enough."

"I know. All that other stuff – I can't promise it. But I swear on my life, I will never make you feel second-best again."

"I don't know if I can live with not having the other stuff."

"I can try."

She wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at this. "You can _try_ to love me?"

"Give me a chance."

"That's ridiculous."

"No, it's not. If that's what it takes, then I will do anything. You made your way into my life and put yourself at the centre of my universe – now that I've got my eyes open, who's to say you won't make your way to the centre of my heart?"

"Which one?" she asked. "You've got more than one."

"Where these things are concerned, I've only got one."

"It belongs to someone else right now."

He thought about that. "Oh Martha," he sighed, leaning against the console. "If you count that fake year, I've been away from her now longer than I was actually _with _her. Every day, it fades. I'm not sure that she's not just a fond idea these days. I love the idea of being with Rose, but…"

"Do not finish that sentence. You know it can't be true."

He sighed. "Please let me try. I promise, it will be better."

"Better," she scoffed.

"Okay, for a while, maybe not better," he conceded. "Just different."

"You can't force it."

"I won't. I'll just be _aware_."

"You can't do this just as a challenge to yourself – you failed at something and now you're making it right. I'm not your _project_."

"I know that. And I'm not just challenging myself – I want to be with you. I _need_ to be with you."

"What if I stay with you for another year and you never feel anything for me?"

"I promise I will tell you."

"One year from now, you will be perfectly honest with me?"

"Yes."

"All right. You have 365 days to make me want to stay forever."


	2. A Few Steps Ahead

A FEW STEPS AHEAD

The Doctor smiled. "So. Starfire?"

"Okay," she said, smiling back, appearing once more in the TARDIS with a large duffel bag. "My mum is really mad."

"I'll have you back before she even knows you were gone."

"Right. Because that worked so well last time."

He did what could only be described as a _saunter_ round the console, pressing buttons and letting the TARDIS grind them to their next destination. He was stealing a glance at Martha to get a read on her mood when he mistakenly pressed a yellow button, which lit up and temporarily let down the defensive shields around the vessel. Within two seconds of this happening, a loud cacophany rose up, and some sort of impact blew them both off their feet.

Repeatedly, the Doctor asked "What…?" while Martha simply gaped. The bow of what looked like a traditional old ocean liner had crashed into the side of the TARDIS. Martha reckoned from the size of it that if they could see it from the outside, it would look rather like a very large man with a penny balanced on his nose.

When the life preserver fell to the metal TARDIS floor, Martha ran to pick it up. She showed it to the Doctor and he asked, once more, lower, "What?"

The big round disc said _Titanic,_ and the Doctor got immediately to his feet and flipped switches to push the TARDIS away from the ship, and repair the damage. Martha watched, and made a mental note to ask if the TARDIS could also mend clothes this way. She had a rip in a pair of trousers from when they were running from…

"Right!" He shouted. _"Allons-y_!" and dashed toward the door.

Only then did she realise that they had appeared somewhere, and the starfire would have to wait. Okay, then. Such is life with the Doctor.

* * *

Thank goodness for the little black dress – good for almost any occasion. It was the last thing she had grabbed, along with a pair of black strappy heels, on the way out the door, and she'd shoved them in her duffel just before hopping downstairs to be verbally assaulted by her mother. It was actually something Tish had worn to a school dance a few years ago. But since her flat had been blown up by Harold Saxon, she had only to choose from the small store of clothing at her mum's. She'd actually brought quite a few of Tish's things, and a few things she hadn't worn since graduating from university. That pair of studded jeans that neither one of them would claim in a million years? She left those behind.

Sleek and strapless, she walked hand-in-hand with the tuxedoed Doctor round the cocktail reception on the _Titanic_, a starship hovering above Earth. They were discussing the weirdness of it – why, _why_, would anyone with half a brain name another ship _Titanic_? And the information droids were just dead creepy...

And an explosion of glass took their attention away. An attractive blonde was wringing her hands, as a passenger hurled abuse at her. "Watch where you're going! This jacket is a genuine Earth antique!"

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, abjectly.

"You'll be sorry," he hissed back at her. "When it comes off your wages, sweetheart. Staffed by idiots! No wonder Max Capricorn's going down the drain."

The blonde was about Martha's age, and dressed in, basically, a French maid's uniform. _Lame_, Martha thought. _You know a man chose that outfit. _She had strong, penetrating eyes and eyebrows with full, succulent lips. She sort of reminded Martha of another, particular blonde, who had managed unknowingly to make her life hell. Martha was, of course, embarking on a new journey with the Doctor, and within herself, and was determined not to let the hapless blondes get in the way.

But when Martha bristled at the man calling her _sweetheart_, and then she glanced at the Doctor, looking for comiseration, he was offering none. His mouth was slightly gaped, and his eyes glazed over. Nine hundred years old. _How _many attractive women had he seen in his life, and this was the best he could do?

He moved slightly forward to help when the awful passenger had moved away, and the woman bent to pick up the broken pieces. Martha threw her arm across the front of the Doctor's dinner jacket, and he snapped his head sideways to look at her. "You have _got _to be kidding me," she said to him.

Eyebrows up in a defensive stance, mouth pursed, he began, "Oh, no no no… no, no, you've got it all wrong…"

"Save it," she said. "You're practically drooling. You've got to do better than that, or you can take me home."

Martha herself moved forward and knelt down to help the woman pick up the broken shards of glass.

"Careful," Martha said, gingerly dropping a large piece of glass onto the serving tray.

"Thank you, but I can manage," the blonde said politely.

"I know you can," Martha said, smiling. "I'm Martha, by the way."

"Astrid, miss. Astrid Peth."

"Nice to meet you. Having an all-right Christmas?"

Astrid smiled. "Thank you for asking! I've had worse, actually." They stood up. "Are you enjoying the cruise?"

"Erm," Martha said, taking a not-so-subtle glance at the Doctor. "I suppose so. We'll see if it works out."

Astrid saw the Doctor then, and said, "Oh, I see!" and she giggled. "Cute."

"Mmm-hm," Martha agreed. "And brilliant."

Astrid giggled again, sneaking a look at the Doctor, who then became very uncomfortable with the state of things. He tried not to show nervousness nor let on that he was attempting to eavesdrop. "Cute _and_ brilliant? Aren't you a lucky girl?"

"Tshhh," Martha exhaled. "That remains to be seen."

"Sounds like you could use a drink," Astrid said. She whispered, "I'll get you one on the house. Your friend too."

"Thanks," Martha whispered back.

Astrid wandered away, and Martha wandered back to the Doctor. "Nice girl," Martha said. "From the looks of it, I'd say a bit too clever to be pushing drinks in a French maid's costume. She's getting us something on the house, though, so I guess I shouldn't complain."

"Nice," the Doctor said. He glanced around the room, and something seemed to catch his attention. "Have you noticed those rather disturbing ads running in the picture frames?"

"Yeah, the _my name is Max_ ones?"

"Mm," he answered, beginning to move toward the wall.

"So Max Capricorn, or whatever his name is, his company owns the ship?"

"Mm," he said again.

"Why would anyone call a ship _Titanic_?" she asked.

"That's what I'd like to know," he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Distract the steward, will you?"

She shrugged. "Okay," she said. He had a bee in his bonnet, and what were companions for?

She sidled up to the young man as the Doctor sonicked open one of the Max Capricorn picture frames.

"Hello," she said, smiling brightly.

He cleared his throat. "Er, hello."

"I ordered a drink a while back, but I can't seem to find the girl who took my order," she said, feigning a childish disappointment. "I don't suppose you could help me?" She clasped her hands in front of her and shrugged sweetly, tilting her head with an eye-bat.

"Miss, I work for Max Capricorn, I am a steward on this ship, I do not work for the catering staff," he said, attempting to sound authoritative. Only, his voice was shaking.

"I know, but… isn't part of your job to see that your passengers are, you know, _satisfied_?" She smiled, hating herself for it.

He gulped. "Y-yes," he conceded. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you. Champagne, please."

He hurried off. As he did, Astrid re-appeared with a small tray carrying two flutes of yellow bubbly liquid. "Where's your friend?" she asked.

Martha gestured to the wall. "The Doctor? He's investigating."

"Oh my goodness," Astrid gasped, as the Doctor seemed to be talking to someone through the radar system behind the picture. "He's not supposed to… how did he get in there?"

"It's just… what he does," Martha told her. "It's part of of the whole _being brilliant_ thing. Please don't tell anyone."

"Okay," Astrid sighed, after an uncertain pause. "But only because you helped me out earlier." She smiled and handed Martha a glass.

And then Martha heard the dreaded words: "If you would come with me, sir." She turned. Two stewards were taking the Doctor by the arms, leading him away from the comm device behind the frame.

Teeth gritted, the Doctor insisted, "You've got a rock storm heading for the ship, and the _shields are down_."

Martha and Astrid both gasped. The Doctor pulled loose from the two men and dashed through the party, miraculously managing not to knock anything, or anyone, down. He grabbed the microphone on the stage where the band was playing. "Listen to me! This is an emergency!" he cried out at the crowd. "Get to the life…" but he was cut off.

Suddenly the two stewards had him again, and as he was dragged past Martha, he called to her, "Look out the window!" He was taken then, kicking and screaming, from the room.

The two women peered out the window. Sure enough – a cluster of asteroids was heading in their direction.

Martha turned to a mechanical angel. "Has anyone checked the oxygen shields?"

"Information," the droid said. "You are all going to die."

"Of course we are," she sighed. "Because that's what happens when you name a ship _Titanic,_ do you see?"

"Information," the droid repeated. "I am not programmed for sensory perception known as sight…"

"Where will they take him?" Martha asked Astrid.

"Down into the mechanical room," she said. "That's where the brig is."

"Right then," Martha said. "I have to start getting people toward the cargo hold. The Doctor has a ship thing – he can get everyone out. Can you get them to let him go?"

"I'll try," Astrid sighed, and ran after the commotion.

After travelling with the Doctor, then crossing the world in combat boots, Martha Jones could run in any shoes. The black slippery strappy things she had on did not phase her, and she dashed back down the corridor from whence they came.

"Prop all the doors," she told herself. "Recruit some strangers to direct traffic, open up the TARDIS, find the Doctor, get the hell out of here. How hard could it be?"

She had made her way down four flights of dirty metal stairs when a giant crash came, and she was knocked off her feet. She screamed and held onto the railing as the ship was jostled sideways, and it felt like several little explosions were happening all at once. Pipes and beams were knocked loose and flying everywhere. The gravity boosters failed momentarily and Martha lost control of herself altogether. Her fingers gave out and she was thrown against the ceiling, against the underside of the stairs above. She felt her forehead dash against a corner, and felt a warm little trickle of blood begin as the gravity boosters re-activated and she was thrown back to the ground.

Surrounded by loosened debris, she took a moment. The blood was not excessive. No blurred vision. She remembered her middle name and birthdate, who was Prime Minister and her mother's maiden name. She kept moving, climbing over the junk, trying to get down to the cargo hold where they'd left the TARDIS.

She found the hold and threw open the door. She was greeted by a crazed blast of air being sucked out of the stairwell and into the open space that existed between _Titanic_ and Earth. Once again, she grabbed hold of something for dear life. The cargo hold was gone, and as she was held sidways by the wind gusts and looked down, she saw hundreds of bodies of victims sucked out of the ship, and almost worse than that, the TARDIS drifting toward Earth. She cursed loudly, and looked back into the ship. No-one was in the vicinity to pull her back in – it was her against space.

She didn't have a chance. And with the TARDIS gone, the rest of them might not either.

But there was still the Doctor.

And then, as suddenly as it had happened, it stopped. The blast of air ceased, and a voice came over the tannoy system stating, "Oxygen shield stabilised."

Martha sat, literally, with her feet hanging into space. She stood up carefully, whispered, "Thanks, Doctor."

As she turned, her heart stopped. A gold-faced angel droid was there, reaching out to her. If she had waited two more seconds to stand up, it clearly would have pushed her into space and set her adrift.

She let out a good scream and ducked underneath one of the angel's outstretched arms, noticing as she did, another door. She wondered where it led, but there was no time to find out now – she had to get to the mechanical room to find the Doctor, and had to get the hell away from this angel. When this was over, she knew it would be a long bloody time before she'd ever want to see an angel again. Between the _Titanic_ and Wester Drumlins, she was _so_ over them.

She ran up two flights and looked back. The droid was moving incredibly slowly up the stairs.

"Oi, what's your problem, then?" she called down to it.

"Information," it said, still moving slowly after her. "My circuits are damaged. My velocity is impaired."

"Oh yeah?" she asked. There was an iron beam leaning against the railing. She grabbed hold of the end, and heaved it, with great difficulty up onto the banister. "Well, let's see how well you do with this!"

She pushed it over the edge, and the angel looked up at her. It fell squarely on the angel's head, knocking it sideways onto the landing, and pinning it beneath the heavy beam. "Informassshhh…." it said, before petering out. Martha began to climb again, and found a metal grate in her path. She picked it up and heaved it back at the angel for good measure, then went up another half a flight. She cleared a little slot for herself to crawl through some unstable piping, then disappeared into a trap door to her right. Air conditioning and heating ducts. She was glad she was small, and hoped they were sturdy. And that the angels couldn't fit inside. Somehow, she had a feeling that they were going to pose a problem.

* * *

Somehow, time lost meaning inside the ducts. They were long, dim and positively labyrinthine. She had no idea how long she was in there, but periodically, she heard screams, and she tried to ignore them. Angels were on the warpath. She tried not to cry. She tried not to wonder where the Doctor was. She tried not to ask herself whether she had made the right choice by coming back. She tried to to think of whether she'd got Astrid killed by telling her to go help the Doctor. She tried not to remember the hopeless feeling she got when she'd seen the TARDIS drifting toward Earth. She tried to move forward, tried to find an exit in the heating ducts that wasn't blocked, and might lead her somewhere sensible.

And then she heard his voice. She was near a room with a tannoy still working. She stopped, and sat sideways, resting for the first time since this whole mess began.

"Mr. Frame, how's things?" the Doctor was saying. Martha almost burst with happiness. At least he'd made it thus far, and if that was the case, Astrid was probably alive as well. "Any sign of Martha Jones?"

"Not yet, I'm sorry, Doctor. I've got life signs all over the ship, but they're going out one by one," the man who seemed to be named Frame replied.

"What is it? Are they losing air?" she heard the Doctor ask.

She cried out, "No! It's the angels!" She knew he couldn't hear, and frustration caused her to bang on the side of the duct. It made a satisfying bellow.

"I'm not sure, but I think it's the host," Frame said. "It's something to do with the host."

Martha waited for a reply from the Doctor. Nothing came. She buried her head in her hands and cried softly, giving in. She knew it was probably simply because he had turned away from the comm device to warn someone or to deadlock a door or to run screaming from the room, but… the possibility…

She gathered herself and moved forward a bit more through the ducts. Finally, she came to a vent that actually seemed to open into a room. She pushed on it hard with her shoulder and it gave way. She fell head-first onto the floor, but she was just happy to be alive, and not in a tight space any longer.

And she seemed to be in the caterer's kitchen! Thank goodness – that meant that while this problem got solved, the few people who remained alive on the ship would have provisions.

When she stood up, however, she was dismayed to find that her dress had been torn. A large triangular rip had appeared at the waist on her left side, just under the bustline and just above her hip bone. She now looked like Posh Spice at an industry party, only without the class. She took a male server's uniform from a hook and pulled the white button-down shirt over her dress and slipped the dress down, just before pulling up the trousers. She cinched them tightly with a bit of rope, and rolled the cuffs up to her shins. She was mildly amused to realise that she would have to continue wearing her strappy black shoes, but at least now she didn't have to worry about losing her clothes.

She threw her crumpled dress over her shoulder and headed for the refrigerator. She pulled out tray after tray of sandwiches, fruit and sweets. Nearby, she found the personal effects of the kitchen staff. She took a messenger bag from the bottom shelf and emptied it. She put various foodstuffs inside, she hoped, enough to provide for a stranded pod of people, perhaps barricaded by a beam or something, should she come across any of the 'life signs' that Frame had mentioned. She tried all of the doors that led out, but none of them worked except for one. It led into a widened hallway – a sensible place to assume would lead somewhere. She took all of the trays of food, whatever she was not carrying with her, and set them on a trolly. She pushed them into the wide corridor, hoping that anyone who came through this way would find solace in the food, and not have to enter the room where she'd found the dead end. If they got trapped there by angels, they wouldn't stand a chance.

Then she threw the messenger bag over her shoulder, decided to discard her dress there, and she moved on.

* * *

There was a general sense of relief when the Doctor, Astrid, Copper, Bannakaffalata, Morvin and Foon Van Hoff, and yes, even Rickston, found the incongruous trolly in the middle of the hallway. It was odd, but the Doctor didn't ask aloud why it was there.

He found a comm device and asked Frame about the robotics' origins. As he finished speaking to Mr. Frame, his eyes drifted to the left. A piece of crumpled material lay there, tossed aside. He picked it up and examined it. It was a black strapless dress, just the right size for someone perhaps 5'1" and slender. It was torn badly at the waist. He smiled, and looked around. The room was full of tired, frightened people made a bit more comfortable for having a little food, and a little rest.

"Thanks, Martha," he whispered.


	3. Keeping Ties

KEEPING TIES

It reminded her of a scene in one of those Indiana Jones movies. Something about a leap of faith.

A deep creavasse which seemed to lead into some sort of fiery pit lay before her, and the only way across was a narrow bridge which looked as though it wouldn't hold the weight of a lemur, let alone a human woman. She had no idea where it led, but it was either onwards or backwards, which didn't seem to lead anywhere.

She stepped toward the edge of the balcony she was on. The front edge gave way a little bit under her weight. She stepped back, heart pounding, glad once again that she was small. A larger person would have fallen to their death. She dug into the messenger bag and found a mesh string sack full of apples that she had stuffed inside. She emptied the apples back into the messenger bag and began to unravel the sack so that she could use the string. She threaded it through some of the tiny screw-holes at the edge of the balcony, then tugged at the railing to make sure it was safe. She tied the the balcony floor to the railing, lacing the string five times before she ran out and had to tie it off. She wasn't sure if string, even five-times reinforced, would hold a person, but its presence, at least, might draw attention to the weak spot, should someone else come through with more girth than she.

She stepped out onto the rickety bridge in her black strappy heels and waiter's uniform, eight sizes too large. _Now_ the shoes bothered her. She retreated back onto the balcony and took a deep breath.

She made the decision just to walk. She would not tiptoe or crawl, she would not prolong the agony in any way. She would walk. She put the messenger bag in front of her around her neck and hung on as a balancing device, and began the journey across.

And then, halfway across, in her peripheral vision, she saw them. The angels could fly. One of the droids was drifting down from above. She swore, but kept her composure and continued walking.

"How are you doing this?" she called out.

"Information," it said. "Air is specially ionised for de-enforcement of gravity."

"Don't you ever give up?" she asked it.

"Information, our purpose is to kill."

"Oh, d'you think?" she said.

"Information," it answered. "Yes."

She realised then that her asking questions was actually distracting it. She assumed it wanted, like before, to push her over the edge. She needed to keep it away long enough just to get across and through the next door.

"What's four times twelve?" she yelled.

"Information, forty-eight."

The thing was coming closer, but she thought she had time if she could keep it talking.

"What's the capitol of Sweden?"

"Information, Stockholm."

Its hands were moving toward its halo. She couldn't turn to look, but suddenly, she formulated quite a grave, grim notion of what was about to happen to her.

But she was almost across! Just a few more steps!

"Which country won Eurovision in 1992?"

It didn't answer. She saw, again, in the periphery, a golden disc coming toward her. Instinctively, she brought the messenger bag, which she had been holding by its corners, up to the level of her face. The gold disc, razor sharp, lodged in its side, saving her jugular from severing. She let out a relieved, stressed cry, then continued her even progress forward.

When she reached the end, she stepped carefully onto the opposite platform. She fell against the hand-plate which should have opened the door, but the door would not budge. She kicked it in frustration, immediately regretting it. The angel was advancing, and she was trapped. Or at least very inconveniently circumstanced.

Then she saw it. A flashing blue light on the wall to her right. "Ionisation de-calibrated," it read. There was a dial with numbers. Martha took a shot. She turned the dial all the way to the left, and the blue light stopped flashing. "Ionisation calibrated," it read. She turned, the angel, hovering above the fiery pit not five feet from her, dropped into the cavern like a stone.

Only then did she realise that she was panting. She fell against the wall with relief as her heart nearly pounded out of her chest. She took a moment to catch her breath, and grabbed the gold disc, stuffing it inside the messenger bag. Then she stumbled back over to the door with the hand-plate and tried again. She guessed that the ionised air was causing an electronic malfunction there as well, or at least the sealing of the door was coupled with trapping people in this horrible space, because the door slid open with absolutely no hesitation.

She threw a metal grate out of the way coming through the door, and sighed. More gears, more ugly under-rooms, more hydraulics and labyrinthine passages and blind corners. The Doctor must have left the mechanical room by now, probably had talked his way out, along with Astrid and a band of misfits or something. She had to admit that she was advancing with no idea now where she was going, only the clear knowledge that she could not stand still with the angels lurking about. And so she pressed on.

* * *

"Is that the only way across?" asked Rickston, whining.

"On the other hand, it _is _a way across," the Doctor replied. He always tried to make humans look on the bright side of things. Too bad he couldn't always follow his own advice.

"The engines are open," Astrid said, looking down into the same fiery pit Martha had looked into, not ten minutes before.

"Nuclear storm drive," the Doctor told them. "Soon as that thing stops, the _Titanic_ falls."

"That... that thing," Morvin shouted, looking nervously at the rickety bridge. "It'll never take our weight."

"You're going last, mate," Rickston shot back, coldly.

"It's nitrofene metal, it's stronger than it looks," the Doctor protested.

"All the same," Morvin said, moving toward the railing. "Rickston's right. Me and Foon should..."

He was interrupted by a creaking sound and a certain instability under his feet. He stopped short and looked down. The front of the balcony had been repaired with string.

"Morvin, move away!" Foon cried out. "It'll go underneath you!"

He took a couple of steps back and bent a bit to examine the makeshift repair job. "Is that string?" he asked.

"Looks like," Foon answered. "How odd. Morvin, you got lucky, sweetheart!"

The Doctor moved in, and the VanHoffs got out of his way. He examined the string as Morvin had. "It's the same string they use to bag up apples in kitchens in the Crawlawn."

"Our food distributor is in the Crawlawn," Astrid told him.

The Doctor said. "Another ten seconds and it would have given way."

The VanHoffs embraced.

The Doctor stood up and looked at them. "It's not luck, Morvin," he said. "Someone saved your life tonight."

Morvin and Foon were thankful, but a sick feeling came over the Doctor. Martha was still a few steps ahead of them, putting out fires wherever she went. She must have felt the balcony give way beneath her feet as well, and tied it up so no-one else would get hurt. But that meant that she was on her own, facing things that she shouldn't have to, things that _he _should be facing, doing the things they should be doing together.

"We have to move faster," he said. "Come on."

"I rather think that those things have got our scent," Mr. Copper said, his voice shaking a bit.

"I'm not waiting!" Rickston announced, and he ventured out over the bridge. An explosion from the storm drive put him off his feet, and he fell, though caught himself. He became panic-stricken, and the Doctor attempted to talk him across.

"They're getting nearer!" Copper called. They all could hear the chant of _kill kill kill_ coming from the other side of the door.

"I'll seal us in," the Doctor said, sonicking the door and its seal.

"That'll leave us trapped, wouldn't you say?"

"Never say trapped," the Doctor insisted. "Just _inconveniently circumstanced_."

Rickston reached the other side, slowly, with a cry of triumph. He was followed, again, slowly, by Bannakaffalatta, Astrid, Mr. Copper, the Doctor and finally, the VanHoffs, one at a time.

As they crossed, Rickston cried back, "Doctor, how do we open the door?"

"Try the handprint plate," the Doctor answered, balancing.

Rickston pressed his hand against the plate, and the door slid open. He held it ajar and ushered the others through. The Doctor noticed a flashing blue light beside the door, just before going through. "Ionisation calibrated," it said.

"Blimey," he muttered, going through the door.

"What?" asked Astrid.

"That room has a feature to de-calibrate ions," he said, running his hand through his hair. "Some robotic circuits can be designed to defy gravity in that environment."

"So the angels can fly?" asked Mr. Copper. "I suppose it's in keeping with the traditions of Christmas."

"Yes," the Doctor told him. "That could have been a _nasty_ crossing-over if the angels had flown in while we were on the bridge. Someone recalibrated it before we arrived there."

"It's like we've got a guardian angel," Morvin smiled.

"More like another Doctor looking out for us, a few steps ahead," Astrid commented absently.

"Almost a doctor, yes," said the Doctor. God, he needed to find her. Easiest way was to get to the bridge, which is what he had planned all along anyhow. And the most effective way to do that? Find out what the hell was on deck 31, the sinister home-base of the host.

And then he gave everyone a task. They needed to get back to the banquet room, because there, they had the transport console. Mr. Copper knew how to use it, so he charged the old man with sending out a distress signal. He left the sonic with Rickston to open doors.

Reluctantly, the small red spiky alien admitted, "Doctor. Must confess. Bannakaffalatta cyborg."

"Really?" the Doctor asked, rather embarrassed not to have noticed.

Bannakaffalatta nodded. "Bannakaffalatta boost storm drive. _Titanic_ not fall."

"I could help," offered Morvin. He pointed to himself. "Robotics, remember?"

"Worth a shot. Do you know your way down?" the Doctor asked.

Morvin chuckled. "As well as you do, I'd wager."

The Doctor smirked. "Fair enough. Be careful."

"One more thing," Bannakaffalatta said before exiting. "Take this." He pulled his tuxedo up, revealing the cyborg panel. He extracted a device from his stomach that looked a bit like a torch.

"This is your backup source," the Doctor said. "You'll need that."

"Flash short-circuit angels," Bannakaffalatta said.

The Doctor studied it. He was right. "All right, but the minute you feel yourself losing power, you stop! You need to give yourself time to re-charge. You have no power feed now!"

"Bannakaffalata promise."

"I'll keep an eye on him, Doctor," Morvin said earnestly. With that, he kissed his wife, exited the room and Bannakaffalata followed.

The Doctor handed the backup source to Astrid. "Go with Rickston and Mr. Copper," he said. "It'll take out a host within fifty yards, but then it needs sixty seconds to re-charge, got it?"

"You talk like you're not coming with us," Astrid commented, beginning to sound and feel just a bit panicked.

"Deck 31," he said, winking, firing up a comm unit.

The report from the bridge stated that they had eight minutes until the storm drive lost power and fell to Earth, wiping out life. The Doctor sprung into action as always, and promised Midshipman Frame that he'd get to the bridge, somehow.

"Doctor!" Astrid called after him. "There's an old tradition back on Sto."

"I've _really_ got to go!"

"This will only take a moment!"

She grabbed a first aid kit and ran toward the Doctor, and laid the box at his feet. She was a small woman, and he was a tall man. Moreover, he knew the traditions of Sto – much like those of Earth.

He took her by the shoulders. It was weird to see eye-to-eye with her. "Astrid. I have to go."

She looked crestfallen.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I made a promise to someone. She has saved our lives at least twice tonight, and..."

She looked momentarily surprised, as she realised it was Martha who had cleared the stairway, left the food, laced up the balcony and de-ionised the air to stop the angels flying. And then her face reverted to disappointment. What had _she _done to win the Doctor's affection or respect?

"I understand," she whispered. She looked up from under her blonde curls. "But it's just a kiss – and she won't even know."

"I'll know," the Doctor insisted. He turned and left her standing, looking after him. To the casual observer, she might have seemed disappointed, but she was actually feeling something else entirely.

* * *

Dizziness spreads like black ice. Warm light is replaced by a creeping crackling of cold dark, and there is usually nothing one can do to stop it.

And so, Martha sat. Perched on a beam that had fallen sideways in the collision, she bent and put her head between her knees, and began to breathe deeply. She thought about the adrenaline rush she had just experienced. She had almost died in at least three ways, just in that one room. If she had been heavier she'd have fallen from the balcony. If she hadn't found the messenger bag and packed it with food, she have had her jugular severed. If she had lost her concentration for one second, she'd have fallen into the fiery pit. Thank God her mother had taught her how to walk properly in heels or she'd be dead.

By the time the three angels came into the room, she'd had just enough time to eat an apple. She had found it surprisingly refreshing.

Good thing, because now it was time to think fast again. Initially, she was slightly crippled, backing against the mechanical door, unsure, terrified, and wondering "What would the Doctor do?" But he wasn't here. And then the angels all reached up, in eerie mechanical unison, for their halos.

If anyone sentient had been nearby, they would have seen her face light up, and would have heard the joy in her voice as she said, "Oh, ho!" She extracted the razor-sharp halo from the messenger bag and prayed for a Christmas miracle. She hurled the thing at one of the angels, and it richocheted off into another, and then another.

"Information," the first angel said. "Internal attack. Engage."

"Information," the second angel said. "Internal attack. Engage."

The third one followed suit two seconds later. It was like listening to Hal the computer singing in the round.

The hurled halo had been enough to confuse the angel bots, and they began attacking each other. The projectile had registered as a hostile attack from one of their own, and they had now lost interest in Martha.

That was the good news.

The bad news was that there were now four halos, designed to decapitate, flying about the room in a pattern that was totally unpredictable to Martha. And if that weren't bad enough, the door behind her opened. She jumped and gave a little scream.

"Astrid!" she cried, clutching her chest. "God, you gave me a fright!"

"Martha!" Astrid cried back. They hugged desperately. Martha was so glad to come into contact with another feeling being, she almost cried. She'd been _Die Hard_ing for an hour, in lethal conditions, all on her own. Doing so without a nine-hundred-year-old time traveller is not recommended.

"Where's the Doctor?" she couldn't stop herself from asking.

"Never mind that!" Rickston cried out from the other side of the threshold. "What the hell is happening in here?"

"Never mind _that_," Mr. Copper insisted. "We just need to get out!"

"Right," Astrid said. "Leave it to me." She stepped forward and held out Bannakaffalatta's energy reserve device, and the whole room flashed with blue light. The angels stopped short and fell, bent at the waist, and the halos fell to the floor with no-one to catch them. The host were spent, but this lot had no idea for how long.

And so they ran.

"Astrid! Where's the Doctor?" Martha yelled, sprinting down a corridor.

"He's gone down to deck 31," she shouted back.

"What does that mean?"

"It's...." Mr. Copper attempted to answer. He was winded. "It's where..."

Astrid stopped and looked back. "Oh, Mr. Copper, we're sorry," she said. "Let me give you a hand."

"No, no," he insisted as she took him by the upper arm. "I'm fine. Just a bit... well, old."

Martha examined his eyes. No dilation – he had not yet over-exerted himself, but Astrid was right. At his age, they needed to slow down. She had to remind herself that she wasn't on her own anymore, or running with a hyper-energetic Time Lord with crazed hair.

"Mr. Copper," she said, walking alongside him. "I'm Martha Jones. Can you tell me where deck 31 is?"

"I don't exactly know," he told her. "But I know it's where the host are headquartered."

"The host?" she asked, panicking. "Are you talking about those angel things?"

"Yes," he responded.

"No!" she screeched, clenching her fists. "Has he completely lost his mind? What am I saying? Of course he has. Does _anyone_ know how to get to him? He'll throw himself to the wolves to save the Earth, and I'm not going to let that happen!"

No-one said anything, for a minute, and then Astrid piped up. "I might have an idea!" She began to run, and Rickston followed. Martha kept pace with Mr. Copper, keeping the other two in sight.

Within a few minutes, they had reached the passenger-frequented areas of the ship, and Martha was less lost. In fact, she was beginning to recognise the way back to the banquet room where this had all begun.

The four of them burst through the doors, and Astrid filled the room once more with an instantaneous, bright blue flash, and all of the angels within went dormant. She ordered, "Rickston, seal the doors, make the room secure."

Martha heard the familiar buzz of the sonic screwdriver. She stomped up to Rickston, feeling tall in her heels, and demanded, "Oi, mate! What're you doing with that?"

Rickston looked at the thing as though he wasn't sure how he'd got it. "The... the Doctor gave it to me so we could open doors. I don't even know what it is!"

"Right," she said. "I'll take that." She held out her hand.

"Gladly," he said, and did not hesitate to give up the device. "Mind you, he told me not to lose it, and I'd not cross that one if I were you, missy. Actually, I think he's a bit mad."

Taking his place securing the doors, Martha said, distractedly, "Not a bit, sir."

"Wait, do you mean..."

But she had already moved on to the next door and was busily securing the room as Astrid had asked. She heard Astrid say, "Bridge, this is Reception One." Martha turned. Astrid was speaking into the microphone on the transport console, and she was wearing a glowing teleport bracelet.

"Who's that?" asked Frame, from the bridge.

"Astrid Peth," she said. "I was with the Doctor... now I'm here with his... _friend_, Martha. Tell me, can you divert power to the teleport system? I need to get to deck 31."

"No way, I need everything I've got to keep the engines going."

"Astrid, what are you doing?" Martha asked, already knowing the answer. "You're mad! This is..."

But Astrid interrupted her. She looked squarely at Martha, but spoke into the microphone to Mr. Frame as she said. "He's gone down there... on his own. And we... we can't just leave him."

Martha grabbed desperately for another bracelet. She pursed her lips with determination as she slid it over her hand. She and Astrid looked at each other, and then joined hands, their knuckles shining white.

After a pause, Frame said. "Giving you power." In less than five seconds, they found themselves in a dark, industrial-looking room. Switches and buttons and lights pulsated, almost with life, all around them. Hundreds of dormant host angels stood about, totally still, looking dead, and also dangerous.

Somewhere far away, Martha heard the Doctor's voice. Her heart leapt into her throat and she threw herself against a door, and listened. Astrid joined her. As usual, the Doctor was busy talking himself out of some situation or other, but then they heard another familiar voice. A raspy, campy voice said, "My name is Max."

Astrid gasped, and dragged a crate over to the door and opened the peep-hole. "Oh my God!" she squeaked. "He's a cyborg!"

"Who is?" Martha asked.

"Max Capricorn," she answered. "It's just his head... attached to a machine!"

"Let me see," Martha insisted, and Astrid moved for her. "Astrid! The angels have the Doctor! You failed to mention that bit."

"We've got to get rid of him, Martha," Astrid said, pacing now. "We've got to find a way to... I don't know. Kill him? He's a machine – it won't be easy."

"What's on the other side of that railing?" asked Martha, still peering through the hole at the Doctor's steadily heating conversation with Capricorn.

"The nuclear storm drive," Astrid said. "It's what powers the ship."

"Hm," Martha said softly, silently contemplating how to push Capricorn into the heart of a nuclear explosion. And why not? The more she listened, the more clear it became that he had every intention of doing the very same thing to _them_. And for what? For revenge... to retire to a place where the women love metal? _Ugh_.

Astrid scurried into the shadows, and Martha heard a great booming to life of some machine, just as alarms began to sound.

"Engines failed," Martha cried out. "What are you doing?"

Astrid came out of the corner, mowing down several still host in the process, driving a forklift. Martha couldn't help but laugh. "That's daft!"

"Yeah," Astrid said, coming to a stop. "But it might work. I am so _over_ this company. I'm going to push my boss into a nuclear storm, how do you like that?"

"It would be a great idea," Martha said. "Except the weight of his machinery on the front of the forklift coul pull you over the edge with him."

"Yes, it could."

"Can't let you do it."

"I'm not asking your permission, Martha."

Martha wasn't sure what to say. The Doctor wouldn't let Astrid do it, why should she?

A moment of silence passed between them, and Astrid broke eye contact with Martha. Suddenly she looked sad.

"Martha, I want to tell you something..."

The tone of her voice alarmed Martha. "Astrid stop it. I know what you're doing... and stop. You're not going to die, so stop saying goodbye."

"Just let me talk, will you?" Astrid requested, with no urgency.

Martha fell silent.

"I just want you to know how lucky you are," Astrid said. "And I need to cleanse my soul. The Doctor wouldn't kiss me." She let out a deep breath she seemed to have been holding.

Martha felt like saying, _so what? Welcome to my world._ But she refrained. She didn't see what this had to do with her being lucky or Astrid's murky soul, so she waited for more information.

"I tried to get him to..." Astrid confessed. "Even though I knew he was with you, I tried to get him to kiss me because... well, because..."

"It's okay, I get it," Martha said, truthfully. She didn't need the _because_, she knew the _why_ better than anyone.

"But he wouldn't do it," Astrid said. "He said that he'd made a promise to someone, and that someone had saved our lives. So... I wanted to say... know that you're lucky, Martha. Know that he cares and appreciates you. And know that I do too. Thank you for everything you did."

"You're welcome," Martha answered. But the whole thing made her very uneasy, and she said so. "But Astrid, stop with the doom and gloom. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, all right?"

Now it was Martha's turn to disappear into the shadows. She had noticed a metal cage off to the left when they'd been teleported in, and she'd noticed some practical tools inside. The door remained ajar, so she went inside, and when she emerged, she was lugging a huge coil of rope.

The argument was mounting between Capricorn and the Doctor. Martha couldn't understand them now, but she knew things were reaching critical mass – she could tell by the tone, the pitch and cadence of the Doctor's voice. She didn't need words from him, only emotion. And it was killing her.

She handed one end of the rope to Astrid and instructed her to tie it very securely around her waist. She did the same for herself at the other end.

"I'd do it myself, only I don't know how to drive a forklift," Martha said, smiling.

"You've done enough, Martha," Astrid told her. "This one is mine."

And from the outside, they heard very clearly above the clamour of the ship, above the alarms and the hum of the forklift, Max Capricorn's voice exclaiming, "Kill him!"

With that, Martha threw open the giant door, and Astrid called out, "Mr. Capricorn! I resign."

Astrid threw the vehicle into high gear and burst forward, the prongs at the front of the forklift heading straight for the undercarriage of Capricorn's machinery. Very briefly, the Doctor glanced her way, and Martha made eye contact, but there was no time to waste with furtive glances. She threw the door firmly shut, and braced herself against the door and the wall. When Astrid fell, she had to make absolutely sure she had a firm hold.

* * *

The Doctor clearly hadn't noticed the rope. The scream he emitted as the forklift went over the edge made that much clear. But when Martha had screamed out for him, begging him to pull Astrid up because she couldn't move, he understood immediately.

He cursed at not having the sonic, but Martha produced it from her trouser pocket, at which point the Doctor raised an eyebrow and said, "Blimey, what are you wearing?"

"Can we focus please?"

"I liked the dress, it looked good on you."

"Well, it's gone."

"I found it crumpled on the floor."

"Did you?"

"Yes, it looked good there, too."

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing. Here, take this."

He set the sonic and instructed Martha to go back to the banquet room and try to route power from the transport console back into the ship's engines. The two girls backed into a corner along with Mr. Copper and Rickston as they all prayed for another Christmas miracle. And they got one – _Titanic_ was saved, along with six billion people on planet Earth. Bannakaffalatta with his power panel, Morvin with his robotics and Martha with the sonic had been able to boost the storm drive enough that the ship dipped into the Earth's atmosphere, and the Doctor on the bridge pulled her back up into space. Not bad for a long day's journey.

Everyone thanked the Doctor and Martha and each other. There was hugging, a little bit of crying, and some goodbyes. Astrid promised to see the universe, and Bannakaffalatta resolved to relocate to a different solar system to try to find a wife. The VanHoffs were laughing about going home to pay off their phone bill (whatever that was about). Rickston, he mused about how rich he was, and Mr. Copper sighed over the idea of having to talk to investigators. The Doctor gave him a bracelet, took one for himself and activated the one Martha was already wearing, and the three of them suddenly found themselves standing in London on Christmas morning. Mr. Copper walked away to make a fresh start, and the time travellers returned to the TARDIS, parked in an empty field covered in snow.


	4. Distractions

DISTRACTIONS

Martha found her duffel bag in a corner of the console room where it had been thrown when the TARDIS had been ejected from _Titanic_. She took it back to her room and changed into pink jogging trousers and a white tee-shirt, and got the hell out of those strappy black heels. Not that they hadn't served her well.

But oh, the pleasure of putting her feet back in her comfy rubber flipflops. Nice and flat and clicky.

When she wandered into the console room, the Doctor had done the same, and changed into something a bit more comfortable. Of course, for him, it was still a suit, but he wasn't wearing a tie, which meant he wanted to go causal. She liked when his tee-shirt collar was exposed behind the dress shirt. It made her want to kiss the area just above it.

He smiled at her.

"Shall we start over, and try for starfire?" he asked.

"Actually," she said. "I could use a meal. I know a great Italian place, Cinzoli's..."

"It's Christmas, Martha."

She sighed. "Okay, so... have you got a ham and some cranberry relish in here somewhere?"

"As it happens," he exclaimed, smiling brightly. "No. But we might be able to scare up some tunafish sandwiches and corn crisps. What do you say to that?"

"Christmas dinner like mum used to make."

He smirked, and offered her his arm. She took it and they headed into the kitchen.

As Martha spread mayonnaise and pickle relish on a piece of bread, she stole a glance at the Doctor. He was squeezing juice from a fresh slice of lemon into his tuna, and when he set the slice aside, he sucked the sour liquid from his fingertips. This sent a frisson of something delicious and annoying rippling through Martha. Her spine tingled, and something turned over pleasantly in the pit of her stomach. Oblivious as always, he was.

But wait. Things had changed. Perhaps she could speak her mind now.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't lick your fingers like that," she said, then she cleared her throat uncomfortably.

He looked at her with utter confusion. "Why not?"

"I find it distracting."

Realisation hit him, and his face seemed to change like a television switches channels. "Oh. Sorry."

"I'm probably just being too sensitive."

"No, no," he said. "I did promise you things would be better. I'll, er... I'll try to refrain from licking things in your presence."

She wound up to hurl a _how dare you_ back at him, and ask how he could be so insensitive, and didn't he realise he was making things worse... but when she looked back up at him, he was looking back with an ironic smirk. He winked, and she couldn't help but smile. Good God, she _had _been taking herself a bit seriously of late. A year spent in combat boots will do that. She was constantly doing strange things in inappropriate shoes.

She carried on with her relish for a moment, then said, "Doctor, Astrid told me what you did."

The Doctor stopped moving. His eyes darted about for a moment, then he asked, "What did I do?"

She sighed. "Well, nothing, really. I mean, it was something. But it was what you didn't do."

On a time-delay, he saw what she meant. "Oh, that."

"Yeah," she said. "I appreciate it."

"It's okay," he said, making his sandwich, tight-lipped.

"I mean, you could have... and I never would have found out. Well, not that I'm... I mean, I know I'm not your..."

"Aren't you?" he asked, still not looking at her.

A rush came over her. "Whoa," she said. "Okay, I think we're both wound a bit tight. Maybe we need to relax. It's only been a day."

"Do you still love me?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

The question surprised her, and made her flush. "Yes."

"Are you still thinking of walking away?"

She felt even more flushed. "A little."

"Then I can't relax." He now looked her in the eyes, his own were drawn down and expressive with sadness.

"Okay," she said, smiling sheepishly. "I guess I don't really want you to anyway."

"Good," he said. He crossed to the table and pulled out a chair. He gestured to it with his eyes, and Martha took his meaning. She sat down, and he pushed it in behind her. And then he brought both sandwiches to the table, and they ate together in a quiet, but happy, kitchen on Christmas.

* * *

The Doctor could never stay out of the console room for long. That meant staying still, and he'd never, ever been good at that. He was a nomad. A nomad with integrity, but a nomad nonetheless.

The sun was coming up over London as they leaned against the controls and discussed their next destination. He maintained that it was now too late for starfire, so what would it be? "Wait," he said. "I know. It's a surprise."

"All right," she agreed. She was always game for this. The Open Road, as he'd said.

When the TARDIS halted someplace else, she asked, "Where are we?" The rush of adrenaline she felt every time she asked that question was now coming back to her, and momentarily, she forgot why she'd ever thought of walking away from this life.

"Ah, now," he scolded. "That wouldn't be sporting! I have to go and get something. Wait here, and no peeking outside!"

He disappeared for about two minutes, and Martha waited. When he reappeared, he was carrying a white paper parcel under his arm.

"Shall we?" he asked.

"We shall."

He took her hand and they stepped out the TARDIS door. They found themselves standing upon a beach, with what looked like transluscent Quartz crystal pebbles under their feet. The sky shone with a hot shade of mauve, and the leaves on nearby trees twinkled like falling stars.

Martha gasped. "This is beautiful!"

"Isn't it?" he asked. "Next best thing to starfire, wouldn't you say?"

She nodded absently as she looked about. Everything seemed to shine, everything seemed to be made of fantasy.

"I have a little errand to run," he said. "Come on."

He led her away from the beach and over a hill. A town spread out before them, which looked a bit like a mushroom village, except glimmering. She could see beings moving about, but could not yet make out their form.

As they got closer, she saw that they were short beings, mostly ghost-white, boxy-shaped and rather serious-looking. They reminded Martha a bit of walking teeth. She noticed that some of them were a bit bigger and stockier – she assumed that these were the males. But it was difficult to tell, because even though these folks wore no clothing, there were no discernible gender markers. No sex organs, no hair, no brow ridge.

"Hunh," the Doctor chuckled. "Look at that. Last time I was here, humanoids were ostracised like vermin. Well, except for Madame Coudre-Crane of course. That was a fun visit – she convinced them to let me go."

"Of course," Martha shrugged, amused. But as she cast her glance around, she noticed quite a few taller figures coming round the corner from behind a building. They were clothed, and taller. One of them looked human, the two others were clearly not. They were chattering loudly with two of the male tooth people, acting like it was their three-martini lunch break.

"So what are we doing?" she asked.

"We're here to see Madame Coudre-Crane," he said. He smiled widely, and it proved to be infectious.

They walked among the passers-by. Martha noticed no hint of hostility, but no hint of friendliness either. Even the humanoids (they had now seen a number of them exit from buildings) pretty much ignored them.

And then they arrived at a building that didn't look like any of the others. To Martha, it looked like a giant banana had been buried halfway in the sand. They went inside, to find a humanoid female (though not human) standing behind a counter with her hands spread out over the surface. Her eyes were closed, and she was humming lowly, like a growling machine. The outer extremities of her face were candy-apple red, and the hue turned more pinkish as the face progressed inward, culminating at her snow-white nose. Her fingertips were red, her wrists pink and her forearms white. Martha guessed that such must be the case with her toes, ankles and calves as well.

"Hello, Madame Coudre-Crane," the Doctor said softly.

She opened her eyes. They were a brilliant shade of blue, the kind of blue that can only be achieved on Earth by wearing coloured lenses. "Hello, friend," she replied. "And who might you be?"

He smiled and stepped forward. "I'm the Doctor," he said. "And this is Martha Jones."

"I have met the Doctor," Madame Coudre-Crane said warily. "And you are not he."

"Oh yeah, that," the Doctor said, waving his hand. "Regeneration." He pinched his own cheeks and insisted he was the same man.

"I liked your white athletic attire," she commented.

"Well, I ditched it, along with the celery," he said. "Listen, we're here for a reason." He handed the parcel to her, and she took it. She seemed to inspect it without looking at it, as a blind person reads braille.

"Understood," she said. For the first time, she smiled. "This is an interesting task, Time Lord."

"Indeed," he said witha tight, bright smile.

"Thirty minutes," she told him.

"Thirty minutes," he agreed. "Come on, Martha. Let's go for a tour."

* * *

"What is this?" she asked, casting her eyes around.

"Well, the last time I saw it, it was a museum," he told her. "But I can see it's become something else entirely. Looks like some sort of factory, wouldn't you say?"

"Pff," she exhaled. "I guess. You're asking me?"

He proceeded forward, taking her hand again. Since she had rejoined him on the TARDIS, there had scarcely been a distance they moved together when he hadn't held her hand. She liked it, it felt right. A bit of physical contact without having to address their _feelings_, just now.

They went through a door, which then led them into a clear plastic curtain often seen at the dry cleaner's. They breached that, and saw a bustling workshop that was, as the Doctor had thought, clearly a factory. Thousands upon thousands of some type of packet moved over conveyor belts and high speeds.

"What are they?" Martha asked, yelling over the machinery.

"Don't know," the Doctor yelled back. "Looks like a pharmaceutical of some kind. Let's just go."

He led her back outside, and looked back at the front of the building as they entered the gleaming city once more. "Exogen-Semele Technology," she said, reading the sign. "Doesn't sound like exactly a pharmaceutical. But it _is _a different planet – what do I know?" He didn't seem to hear her, as he wracked his brain for something else mildly diverting to do for twenty minutes on this planet.

They managed to find an arcade powered by psychics, in which the games involve a form of veiling one's thoughts. From the looks of it, the residents of this planet seemed as obsessed by their games as those on Martha's. The Doctor scanned a few credits with the psychic paper, and Martha attempted to keep an empath out of her mind.

No such luck.

When thirty minutes was up, they headed back to Madame Coudre-Crane's banana hut.

"Who is she anyway?" asked Martha.

"She's one of those empaths like we just saw," the Doctor explained. "Only much more highly skilled. Her powers extend to the inanimate material world. She can heal... things. Not just sentient beings. It's why she's been revered for so long, even in times when humanoids were looked upon as a sub-genus."

When they entered her place, the empath had already re-wrapped the white parcel. It was sitting neatly upon the counter. The Doctor attempted to pay her for her services, but she declined. "Time Lords get free service today," she said officiously.

"Thank you, Madame," the Doctor said. "We'll be going."

"Doctor," she called after him, her voice teeming with whimsy. "One more thing. How did it happen? The thing in the parcel, I mean."

The Doctor smiled. "It's not what you think," he told her. "It wasn't me."

"How disappointing," she sighed.

"Goodbye, Madame Coudre-Crane."

When they reached the TARDIS once more, he finally handed the package to Martha.

"For me?" she asked, exaggeratedly placing her hand over her heart like Scarlett O'Hara.

"For you," he said. "As a thank-you for... well, everything."

She unwrapped the package, and found that it contained her black dress, which she had worn onto the _Titanic_ and thought she had left on-board. The large triangular rip was completely gone, and had been mended absolutely seamlessly. Martha smiled. "She can heal... _things_," she commented.

"That's right," said the Doctor. "Here's hoping you'll never have to wear a waiter's uniform again." The look in his eyes was serious, and she knew what he meant. He meant to stick with her, never to let her fall into that position again, never let her face the world alone.

"Thank you," she said. "But how did you get it?"

"I told you," he shrugged. "I found it crumpled on the floor."

She blushed at the memory of what he'd said about liking the sight of her dress on the floor.

"And with your life at stake, and the lives of others, you decided to carry it with you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"My tuxedo's pockets are bigger on the inside."

"Doctor," she chided.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I find it distracting," he confessed.

She knew what that meant as well. She couldn't meet his eyes.

"Thank you," she repeated.

"Will you wear it again?" he asked tentatively.

"What, now?"

He smiled and nodded.

She smiled back. "If you want."

She disappeared down the corridor and came back a few minutes later, dressed again in the sleek black strapless. She had pulled her hair up in a clip and let a few strands fall, and had opted for a pair of pumps instead of the strappies.

"Wow," he breathed when he saw her. "You are beautiful."

She curtsied slightly, in lieu of words.

"I feel a bit underdressed," he told her. "Wait here, I'll put on a tie."

She caught his arm as he moved to go, and she said, "No, don't."

He looked surprised, but he conceded, "Okay. Let's have a swim, shall we?"

"A swim?" she asked, incredulous.

He led her outside the TARDIS where the beach had fallen under the shade of early night.

"Take off your shoes," he told her. She obeyed, and felt the Quartz-like crystals vibrating under her feet. She giggled at the sensation, and took a few ticklish steps back toward the TARDIS. "No, come on," he encouraged, taking her by the hand once again. They walked toward where the water lapped at the pebbles, and then began to stroll the length of the beach. In a minute or two, she grew accustomed to the sensation, and it began to feel very therapeutic.

"I'm starting to like these pebbles," she commented.

"Yeah," he said. "Wait until you try the water. Go ahead."

She smiled like a kid, and let go of his hand. Leaving her shoes on the shore, she stepped into the water, and found that it felt like a warm eucalyptus massage. It was clearly not pure water – it was something better.

She closed her eyes and sighed audibly, and asked, "What is this?"

"A mixture of fresh water and Themedemer extract oil," he said. "It's an abundant plant in the ocean, which its oil like mad. Not that any of this world's inhabitants would appreciate it."

"Mmm," she sighed again. She stepped further into the water.

"Mar..." the Doctor said. Rather, he grunted. It was all he could get out before Martha, in her stupor, had walked waist-high into the water, soaking her newly-mended black dress. He put his hands in his pockets resignedly, and rocked back on his heels, watching with pursed lips. She completely submerged herself, and came back up and faced him. She let her hair out of the clip and it fell free. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked.

She didn't answer, she just smiled, and began to emerge from the water. The dress clung to her like paint.

"That was _beautiful_," she sighed. "Thank you." She stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

They caught each others' eyes, and held them for a moment. Martha's were eventually drawn to his cheek, ear and lips. She noted the slight stubble he was sporting, and then a few inches lower, she saw the exposed collar of his red tee-shirt. She stared at it, unsure of why she was so obsessed with it. She put a hand on his shoulder and narrowed her eyes. Briefly, she met his gaze again, and asked "May I?"

She didn't wait for him to answer, and he gulped as she stretched up once more, this time to plant seven soft kisses across the collar of his shirt, just above the fabric. She heard his breath catch, and she smiled to herself. She took a chance and opened her mouth slightly, and very gently let only the tip of her tongue touch his flesh. He gasped, and she pulled away.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "I've been wanting to do that for two years."

He couldn't say anything. An incoherent "Ah booah," came out when he tried to speak. She giggled slightly, and turned to pick up her shoes.

"We should be getting back," she told him. "I'm really tired."

He gulped. "Yeah." This time she took _his _hand, and they headed back up the beach.


	5. Planting Seeds

**I have a feeling that this chapter will be somewhat controversial. I'm sure you'll let me know, you always do! (Thank you!)**

**In any case, try to stay with me in the Doctor's musings on human relationships. **

* * *

PLANTING SEEDS

He sat in one of the TARDIS' parlours, engaged in a recreational mathematics problem in a games book, waiting for Martha to emerge from the shower. He _could_ just go to bed, but he wanted to say good night to her.

He had just about fallen into a hypnotic state at this point. The maths was soothing his addled brain – correct answers, right or wrong, black or white. He knew what to do. About Martha, he wasn't so sure. He needed to wrap his mind around their situation.

Yesterday, she had told him in no uncertain terms that she didn't to be his pet project, something that he kept about as a challenge to himself. He had no intention of treating her or thinking of her that way. That's not what she was to him. She had also been incredibly irritated about his initial attraction to Astrid, saying he'd have to do better than to drool over other women, or the deal was off. But then, after the disaster on the ship, he supposed she'd gained a different perspective, and had implied that he shouldn't feel beholden to her. But wasn't that what this was all about? He _had _to be beholden to her, if he wanted to keep her in his life, didn't he?

_I'm not your..._ she had said. He had argued that she was. But how was she going to finish that sentence? He wished he hadn't cut her off.

She was certainly his companion, his best friend, no doubt about that. She _had_ to know that much, didn't she?

But was she his _girlfriend_ now, too? Maybe she was. She loved him. She was jealous of other women. They lived together. They bickered. She had been taking him to task for certain small things (like licking lemon juice from his fingers). He was attracted to her, and clearly she to him. He had refrained from kissing someone else because of a commitment to her. He had brought her on a 'date' to this planet and given her a gift as a token of affection. She had taken the liberty of kissing his neck, and he'd liked it. _A lot_. He _desperately_ wanted to keep her with him, and was willing to do pretty much anything she asked in order to make her stay.

But he was not yet ready to say that he loved her. Sure, he admired her, wanted very badly to be with her, cared about her feelings, and thought she was sexy. But love was something different, something in the guts. He liked holding her hand and seeing her in that black dress, and he liked making innuendos, and yes, he'd love to sleep with her, but he was still afraid of what he'd say to her in the morning.

This all made him very uneasy, as a Gallifreyan.

But, he realised, Martha was, in fact, human. And in the arena of _human_ relationships, it all seemed par for the course. Humans of the twenty-first century have elaborate, complicated romances, based on personal philosophy and arbitrary, self-imposed rules. Nothing like the cut-and-dry courtship rituals of Gallifrey. Men and women are constantly wondering and fretting over what the other is thinking – entire books have been written on the subject. In fact, an entire literary genre has sprung from it.

Sure, best case scenario: boy meets girl, they fall in love and life is good – it happens sometimes. But more often, women fall smitten and enter into relationships with men whom they _know_ don't feel the same way, because they have faith in fate and in love and in their own power. Plenty of men enter into these relationships unsure of whether they will ever fall in love at all, simply because they admire and crave and care about someone_. _This is not stupidity on the part of women, nor malice on the part of men; it's simply a phenomenon based on _let's see where it goes. _And most humans have come to terms with all of this. They engage in romance, they make love, they build lives together, still without having symmetry in their relationship. Sometimes for the right reasons, sometimes not. But the bottom line is that hardly anyone is ever exactly on the same page with their partner, and somehow, the species progresses. Humans live with uncertainty rather well, all things considered.

And so, who cared if he wasn't yet sure where they stood? Martha probably didn't know either. But all the evidence pointed that way: he supposed, for all intents an purposes, that he had a girlfriend now. Not a torrid love affair, or a "serious" relationship. Just a good, solid, totally insecure twenty-first century precipice into possible romance. Combustible, unruly and really quite normal.

_Let's see where it goes_. A traveller cutting a swash across the galaxies in a stolen time machine could certainly appreciate that philosophy. Probably. As long as it "goes" back to Martha staying...

Coming to some sort of conclusion made him feel much better. As much as the revelation of a romance itself, with Martha, was pleasant, he liked having _an answer._ He was trying to get her to stay, and at least he knew how to act now.

But he didn't want to go about it superficially. Humans follow a kind of continuum of intimacy, generally speaking. The Doctor put his pencil between his teeth, and tore his eyes away from recreational mathematics long enough to think about it...

Oh, it would be easy to get stuck into following a script. Martha, of course, would see through that in a nanosecond, would catch him referring to his mental crib notes. Plus, she had probably already violated the continuum tonight on the beach, so... where exactly was the balance?

He had a bit of black and white in his life now, but there was still so much grey area on the horizon. Emotional, exhausting, grey.

"Hello," she said, startling him a bit as she entered the room. She had ditched the black dress in favour of a knee-length tee-shirt with a round, smiling cartoon character labeled _Little Miss Trouble_. "I thought you'd have turned in by now."

"I hadn't said good night yet. My, you take a long shower."

"I was trying to work out a cramp, thought the hot water would help," she said, turning her head sideways. "Must have twisted it a bit during my epic climb through the Ship of Doom, and not noticed because of adrenaline or something. What I wouldn't give now for some Aspirin."

"You could try some Lipemos Yort ointment, but it'll have been mixed for the inhabitants of _this _planet," he said, setting his maths book aside. "Not sure what it would do to a human."

"You know, when I was in the shower, I was thinking about that," she told him, sitting down on the sofa next to him.

"Thinking of what?"

"Well, being in that factory today, Exogen Semele Technology..." she said.

"Exogen Semele," he repeated, thoughtfully.

"... I was thinking how everyone tries to avoid pain, and each society comes up with its own way of dealing with it. On Earth, we have our drugs, and they clearly have them here too. We find elements from our own environment and make them work for us. It's like no-one in the universe can stand to be uncomfortable for even a few minutes. It seems like pain could do us some good sometimes."

"Interesting point," he conceded. "Particularly coming from a woman who's training to be a physician."

"I know," she sighed. "But I want to prevent disease and decay and death. I'm not going to prescribe drugs to people who just want to get rid of a bit of... well, neck pain."

He smiled at her.

"Doctor," she began. "Thank you for tonight."

"It was our first date," he said lightly.

"I suppose that's true," she agreed.

"Well, it was my pleasure," he whispered. He took her hand and kissed three of her fingertips. It was a sweet, rather intimate gesture, and normally, something like that would have had her half on the floor. But what came over her now was just a feeling of contentment. She knew that over the next year, she would flip-flop a million times over whether she'd made the right decision by allowing the Doctor to make amends and coming aboard again. But at this moment, she knew the answer was yes.

"Well," she said, putting both hands on her knees with some finality. "I suppose that's me off to bed then. Neck pain and all."

"Yeah," he groaned a bit, as he got to his feet. "Me too. Good night."

* * *

"Martha! Martha wake up," she heard.

She had been dreaming about running down a crowded street with the Doctor, being chased by a six-foot sundial. They took refuge inside a ten-story cucumber, inside of which, there was an entire sea, and a boat docked. They got aboard, and the Doctor kept spitting over the side of the boat, and she kept sneezing.

Even in the dream, she was making note of the Freudian cues she'd learned in her psychiatric rotation.

"Martha!"

She was secretly glad to have been taken from the dream before the Doctor morphed into her father or something, or the cucumber turned to mush and they had to find a sacred blue disc that would save the city from the wilting vegetable...

But she had no articulation for any of this, and what came out of her mouth was, "Do-aaaahh..."

"Yeah, it's me," he whispered. He knelt on the floor beside her bed. "I'm sorry to wake you, but it's important."

She sighed heavily. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Round four hours, I think," he said. "Were you dreaming?"

"Yeah."

"About what?"

"Erm..." she said, propping herself upon her elbows and squinting, trying to remember. "Cucumber."

"Cucumber. Okay. Sliced?"

"No."

"Thank heaven for that," he said, his voice low.

"And..." she closed her eyes tight. The dream was fading, except for a few disjointed images. "And really big, I think."

"Mm, nice to hear," he quipped. "Anyway, I realised something. That name you said earlier, Exogen Semele, do you remember?"

She sat up properly and leaned against the wall behind her. He pulled himself up and sat down on the bed facing her. "Er, yeah," she breathed. She put one hand on her forehead. "The factory."

"Yes, the pharmaceuticals company," the Doctor said. "Except Exogen Semele means something, and it's not pharmaceutical. It means something like _seeding originating from outside._"

Martha stared at him, her brain moving at a quarter speed.

"I don't like what that implies about the pills we saw being mass-produced," he explained.

"Hm," Martha said, surprised that she could understand what he was saying. "That actually makes sense."

"Course it does," he said.

She yawned dramatically. "So what do we do?"

"Well, I _had_ planned on pulling up roots in the morning, but I suppose now we'll have to go check out the factory."

"Did I hear you say _now_?"

"What better time than when the planet's at rest?"

"Erm, perhaps when your companion is not?" she suggested, still struggling to keep her eyes open. She turned sideways and curled up, trying to lie down again.

"Oh now," he said, getting up. "Come on, _companion_, let's get you some coffee."

She didn't move. Here was where he began finding the balance. He did what a good _boyfriend _(one who was dragging the girl out of bed in the middle of the night to investigate a sketchy pharmaceuticals factory) would do. He threw open her wardrobe, and he chose some things at random. Her bra was hanging on the back of the bedroom door, and he grabbed it and shoved it in his pocket. He threw the rest of the clothes over his shoulder, then he pulled the blankets away from her tiny, curled-up body. He looked about and found her rubber flip-flops lying nearby, and he put them on her feet.

She groaned. "Noooo. In the morning."

"In the morning the place will be teeming with labourers," he told her. He lifted her head and secured his arms under her knees. "It has to be now, I'm sorry." She felt her body lift from the bed and slump against his chest. She then registered the feel of polyester against her cheek.

As he walked out of the room with her, she asked, "Are you still wearing your suit?"

"Yep."

"Do you sleep in that thing?"

"Soon enough, love," he said. "You just work on waking up."

"Mmm."

The next thing she knew, she was being poured into a chair. The metal was cold against her bum, and then the lights came on. "Balcccchhhh," she said, laying her forehead on the table.

"I'll have coffee for us in a minute," the Doctor was saying, moving about the kitchen. "Why don't you put on your clothes?"

She looked up. He had deposited a pair of jeans and a tank top on the table in front of her. She dragged herself to a standing position and pulled on her jeans. She held up the tank top and contemplated it. Then she said, "I have to go back to my room and get my bra."

"Oh, hang on," he said, stopping in the middle of scooping coffee grounds. He came round to the table and pulled the bra out of his pocket by one strap.

She couldn't help but giggle. "Cheeky."

She shed her _Little Miss Trouble_ nightshirt, while the Doctor pretended to be flummoxed over the coffee machine. When he turned back around, thankfully, she was dressed. "How's my hair?" she asked.

He pointed to his own unruly mop and said, "Do I look like the right man to ask?"

She tied her hair in a knot at the nape of her neck, and sat with her elbows on the table and her eyes gently closed. She was resigned to this, she supposed, and such was life with the Doctor.

* * *

"Tell me the truth," she said. "Did you put something extra in the coffee? Because I feel great."

"Maybe," he said evasively, as they made their way down the street. The mushroom town was dark and closed down, and they made their way back to the building where they'd seen a room full of pills packaged that afternoon. Except this time, they went to the back door.

He sonicked their way inside, and the first thing they saw was a large storage room, with boxes bearing the Exogen Semele logo. Martha peered into one of the open boxes lying about, and picked up one of the packets. "Adipose," she read. Then she threw it back in the box and said, "Fat cells."

"Eh?"

"Human fat cells are also known as Adipose tissue."

He furrowed. "Blimey, you're right," he told her, beginning to move slowly through the dark room. "I can't believe I've never made the connection before.

"Connection?"

"This planet. It's called Adipose 3."

"Okay," she said. "That's weird."

He grabbed a couple of pill packets from a box, and ripped one open. He crushed a pill between his fingers and tasted it gingerly.

"Well?" asked Martha.

"Bit chalky," he responded. "And I can't taste anything in it. We might just have to analyse it."

He reached into his coat pocket and extracted his eyeglasses, along with a silly-looking scope that sat in front of the glasses. He asked Martha to crush another pill between her own fingers, then to hold it so he could examine it. He aimed the sonic screwdriver at her fingers. "Cytokines," he whispered.

"What about them?" she asked.

"That's what this powder is made from," he said. "A synthetically-produced chemical that mimics cytokines."

"This planet has them?"

"Well," he said, taking off the silly scope, leaving on the glasses. "As far as I know, only humans have them."

Martha put her weight on one hip and crossed her arms contemplatively. "If the pill mimics cytokines, then they're trying to enhance them. Doing that would boost antibody responses in the fat cells, which would make the host body much less subject to infectious diseases and cancer."

"Okay," the Doctor said. "But I hardly think this lot is producing this much of the stuff just to augment the immune system of the human race. They have a deeply-rooted, but apparently now dormant, contempt for all things humanoid." His eyes were eerily wide now. "So what are they doing?"

"Let me think... fat cells, throw off antibodies... boost immunity... but it's not for our _health_."

The Doctor was pacing, "Yes, yes, and what would be the metabolic consequence upon the fat cells, working overtime to process cytokines into antibody soldiers?"

"Erm," she said, furrowing as he was. "I suppose they'd begin to break down."

"I agree. Only trouble is..."

"The company's name. The thing about exogenic seeding," she finished.

"Exactly. _Seeding originating from the outside._"

"What about side effects?" she asked the Doctor. "Do you think there could be some other thing it does? You know, like when they use antidepressants to help people quit smoking?"

"Could be..."

Frustrated, Martha tugged at the hair at her temples. "What do they want with our fat cells? Okay, so they're clearly not interested in our fighting off antibodies..."

"Unless..."

"Yes?"

"Unless they're planning on feeding _in_ antibodies, hoping the human body will reject them quickly."

"What? What would they have to gain from that?"

"I don't know," he said, eyes opened maniacally again, tongue exposed between his teeth. "Let's find out!" He went all mad scientist again with the glasses and the scope and the sonic. Martha crushed another pill and held it up for his inspection.

He mixed the powder with his saliva, and asked Martha to do the same, just in case the difference in their species' chemical makeup of bodily fluids would have any effect. It did not. He tried exhaling upon it, he tried a hundred different settings on the sonic, and finally, he let out an "Aaargh!" in protest. "I can't pin it down!"

"Nothing?"

"Well," he said, not shedding the nerd accessories this time. He buried his hands frustratedly in his hair. "Know that whatever it is, it's organic, and originates on this planet. I can tell that much from the pyramidal molecular pattern. But I have no idea what it does."

Martha looked around at all the boxes. "How many pills do you think there are in here?"

"Millions," he said. "Millions upon millions. They're intended for humans, that's clear, but..."

"And you said they hate humanoid creatures?"

"At the very least, they have little respect for them," the Doctor said. "It's buried in their culture, though it's masked nowadays. Sort of like the French and the English."

"So, my planet could be in danger," Martha mused. "Again."

"Yep."

"Then I guess I'd better take one for the team."

"What?"

She took a pill from the packet as she looked at the Doctor to see what he'd do.

"Martha, no," he insisted, trying to take them out of her hands. "That's insane."

"Look, Doctor," she said, holding the pills behind her back. "If they wanted to kill us, they'd just nuke the planet. And whatever it is they're doing has got to take a while, otherwise, why would they manufacture so much of this stuff?"

"Still," he said. "I'm not going to let you."

"Did you drag me out of bed in the middle of the night so that I could tag along with you and get nothing accomplished?"

He put his hands in his pockets. "No, I did not."

"Then let me do this," she said. "Let me be your companion, if that's what I am. Let me help! It's just a pill. And you'll be right there with me when whatever happens happens. We'll go back to the TARDIS, you'll have all your instruments, and I won't leave your sight and you can examine me all you want. And then we'll know how big of a threat we're dealing with. Okay?"

He exhaled heavily. He gave a barely perceptible nod, and Martha swallowed one of the pills.

She cocked her head to one side, and looked at the ceiling. After a beat, "Nope, not dying yet," she said.


	6. Birth Control

**Sorry if I fudged up the facts about the missing planet and the order of things... enjoy!**

* * *

BIRTH CONTROL

"Okay, now what?" asked Martha as she shut the TARDIS door behind her.

"How do you feel?"

"Fantastic. You?"

"Fine," he said, throwing his coat over a column that looks like a tree. "But I didn't just swallow a pill with unknown properties, which may include antibodies detrimental to my species."

She put one hand on her hip and looked at the Doctor, as if to say, _oh, give it a rest._ "Shouldn't you be hooking me up to monitors or something, instead of scolding me for something already done?"

He led the way down the hall. "Step into my office."

She followed him into a white room which looked awfully familiar to her. It was an examination room, such as one might find in a hospital. Martha sat on the exam table. "What are we doing in here, then?" she asked.

"I'm going to give you a physical – take your vitals. If you haven't felt any effects in an hour, then I'll do it again and find out what's changed, if anything. Every hour, until you feel something happen."

They took her heart rate and pulse, blood pressure, height and weight. He tested her reflexes, calculated her BMI, ex-rayed for bone mass, dilated her pupils, looked inside her ears, and even took blood. He felt her lymph nodes, examined her hair and cuticles, rotated her hip, knee, ankle, shoulder, elbow and wrist joints, then finally listened to her lungs. All seemed normal. Except the Doctor himself who Martha thought was being a bit overwrought.

"Okay, sixty minutes, we'll do it again, unless..."

"Got it," she said. "If anything exciting happens, you'll be the first to know. Well, technically, second."

"Okay. What do you want to do now?"

"Want to watch a film?"

"Sure, like what?"

"Oh! Do you have the last two _Harry Potter _films?"

"Yes. And actually, it's three. But... spoilers."

"Hey, who's putting herself on the line to help out the human race?"

"Fine, Harry it is."

"Yes!"

* * *

When one film was half over, they did another physical. All results were within the standard deviation – no cause for alarm. Yet.

When the film finished, they did it a third time. And then again halfway through the second film, and again at the end. No significant changes. By this time, five hours had passed, and though the suns had shown themselves on the horizon of Adipose 3 long since, they were both ready for another bit of sleep. But sleep would have to wait for the Doctor. His agitation saw to that.

"Maybe we could finish the last one some other time," the Doctor suggested. "Don't you need a nap?"

"Yeah, good idea. When would you like me to set the alarm for?" she asked.

"Oh no," he said, grabbing her hand. "You're coming with me. If you're going to sleep, I'm going to watch."

"What? Why?"

"Because what if whatever it is that this pill does, it does it in your sleep? Wouldn't that be just the perfect cover for a pill aimed at millions of humans?"

"But it's creepy, someone watching me sleep."

"Martha, it's me."

She didn't quite want to say _that's why it's creepy_, so she just sighed and followed him. She fell asleep on the right side of the bed almost immediately, while he sat with his back against the headboard and his glasses on, consulting a book on Adipose tissue. It offered no insight, as the human author had no clue about the drugs from Adipose 3. This was a consolation, at least, because the book was written on Earth in 2130, and there was no mention of it... that must mean it wasn't a great crisis. Or, the memories of it were erased from the human consciousness.

He looked down at Martha, sleeping peacefully, and bit his lip. He wondered what was going on behind her eyelids. He wished that folks would stop messing with the human consciousness. It was fine the way it was. Fantastic, as a matter of fact.

And after he'd been internally musing on this particular topic and other meandering fancies for over an hour, while absently leafing through the book, the real action began. He heard what sounded like a rumbling stomach, a great _glorp_ from Martha's insides.

"Oh, here we go," he whispered to himself. He turned her over on her back, but she showed no signs of waking. Something was moving under her jeans, on her hip. He extracted his stethoscope from his pocket and held it to her hip. He listened. He heard an indistinct _glorp glorp_ sound, and a high-pitched "rrrr?"

And then, for a moment, the moving seemed to stop, but she was left with an impromptu tumour on her hip, roughly the size of a grapefruit. But when the moving began again, the Doctor received one of the great shocks of his very long life.

* * *

She woke with a start of frustration. Those dreams again. Those comical, symbolic, ironic, maddening dreams! What was she supposed to do about them?

The clock by the bedside told her that she'd been asleep for a little over four hours. She wondered why the Doctor hadn't awakened her for another check of her vitals. And then she noticed him slumbering beside her with his glasses sitting sideways on his face. She smiled. Such a _together_ guy, but he looked sacked-out and completely gone, just like everyone else when he slept. She watched him for a moment, and relished in this rare intimacy.

And then she heard a sound. It was a high-pitched "rrrr?" from somewhere in the room. She raised herself up on her hands and glanced about, noticing a piece of furniture that had not been there before. She stood and moved closer to it.

Inside, there was a white spongy thing, about the size of a grapefruit. It had arms, legs, and a face, and it was inside a playpen with a tiny football, running around, kicking, entertaining itself. Martha gasped when she saw it, but not from fright or disgust. The damn thing was _cute_, but what the hell was it?

When it heard her gasp, it looked up at her and waved. She swore she heard it say "hel-lo!"

She opened her mouth, but nothing articulate came out. "Ah..." was all she could manage.

She was torn between being charmed and being completely weirded-out. For a long while, she just stood frozen, watching the little guy play football with himself, occasionally cheering inside his pen with a little, "Woo-hoo!"

Eventually, she made her way back to the bed, and shook the Doctor awake.

"Doctor!" she cried, jostling him at the shoulder. "Doctor, wake up, please."

"Eh?" he asked, sitting up with a bit of a start. He removed his glasses and looked at her.

"Doctor, what is that white spongy thing with eyes?"

He ran one hand roughly down his face, trying to shake off the sleep. "That..." he began. "Oh that! Yes, that's Rory."

"Pardon me?"

"I've decided to call him Rory. Suits him, don't you think?"

"Yeah," she said dismissively. "But where did he come from?"

One eybrow cocked, and his eyes bore meaningfully into Martha's. He had his look when he told her he was an alien, and it had given her chills then too.

"What?" she asked.

"It came from you," he said.

She flopped down on the bed, on her knees, and scooted toward him. "What do you mean _it came from me_?"

"That's what the pill does," he told her. "After you went to sleep, something started moving inside your jeans, near your left hip. A minute or so later... he popped up from behind your waistband and said hello."

"Oh my God!" she cried out. "Did I give birth?"

"No, no, no," he was quick to say. "I examined him a little while ago. He has no bones or internal organs right now – he's entirely made from galvanised fat cells, and Adiposian DNA. You didn't incubate him or anything, he just sort of broke off from your body and came to life."

"You've _got_ to be kidding."

"No joke," he promised, scooting back to lean against the headboard once again. "He weighs exactly one kilo. I'd wager that if we weighed you again, your weight would be exactly one kilo less."

"How do you know he's a he?"

"I don't. I just guessed. It's impossible to say until they're older – they have no sex organs."

"And this all happened when I was asleep?"

"Yes, now aren't you glad I was watching?"

"I suppose so," she confessed. "So... what the hell is this? Why are they galvanising fat tissue into pet marshmallows?"

"They're breeding," he told her. "These are the infant versions of the big square-looking white creatures we've seen on the streets."

"Oh! No sex organs! I get it, they have to plant their seeds in other ways," she said. "Blimey."

"And I reckon they're planning on marketing the pill as a weight-loss aid," he muttered. "Once people start figuring out how easy it is, they'll _flock_ to buy this stuff. And then we'll have billions of little... pet marshmallows."

"And then what will they do, take over the planet?"

"No, they'll just play and sing and be all cute until someone comes to claim them, but the point is, they'd be using human flesh for their own gain, without humans consenting to it, or even knowing about it. It's a violation. And anyway, it's illegal to seed a level 5 planet."

Martha flopped back against the headboard. "Whoa," she sighed. After a pause, she asked, "D'you reckon this lot know that?"

"I reckon they do," he answered. And then, strangely he took her hand. They were now sitting side-by-side on his bed, holding hands. Martha almost didn't notice the intimacy – it felt right, normal. But once she did notice it, she hoped that _he _didn't notice her hand turn clammy and begin to tremble just slightly. She squeezed his hand and looked back at him the way he was looking at her, with bemusedness. Only, perhaps her expression carried a touch of longing in it. "But of course, we have to give them a choice. Give them a chance to stop before we call in the Shadow Proclamation to shut the planet down. That could bankrupt the planet. And put its food supply into tight rations. And cause the vegetation to... Martha, are you listening?"

Blimey. He had taken off his tie again, and his tee-shirt collar was exposed. She heard what he said, but it didn't register. "Sorry," she said, shaking herself awake. She wrested her hand out of his, and got up on her knees and faced him. "Yes, a choice, good idea. Who do we talk to?"

He looked at her with a bit of concerned scrutiny. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, why?"

"I mean, where were you, just now?"

"Right here with you," she answered, a bit too innocently.

"Martha, you were looking at me the way a vampire looks at someone," he said. "Trust me, I should know. They choke on Time Lord blood, but it doesn't stop them from trying."

She sighed. "It's the tee-shirt collar."

He frowned a put his fingers to the collar in question. As he touched his own skin, the ghost of Martha's lips crossing his neck came back and asserted itself. "Oh," he said, his eyes wide. "Distracting?"

She sighed again, heavily. "Yes!" she said angrily. She shut her eyes tight and put a hand to her forehead. "I'm sorry. I'm acting like a thirteen-year-old."

"No, you're not," she heard him say softly.

She opened her eyes, and he was smiling softly. "Thanks, but..."

"Do you want me to stop doing it? I could wear a tie. Or a scarf, I suppose... my old one unravelled, but I could find another..."

"No, that's stupid. I'm just going to have to get over it." He had the feeling that she was no longer speaking to him, but to herself.

"Well, then," he said, getting to his knees to face her. "Does this help?"

He put his hands on her legs to support himself as he leaned forward. He veered a bit to the right, and she shivered as his lips made contact with the soft flesh just below her ear. He kissed her lightly, and then moved slightly down, kissing her again, this time with a bit of part to his lips. And then again, and then again...

When he switched sides, she willingly tilted her head for him, and closed her eyes. She put her hands over his, and let her fingers crawl up his wrists and inside his sleeves just a little. She felt his body grow warmer inside his clothes, felt the hair on his arms, even his pulse. It was racing, as hers was. As he planted longer and longer, more and more supple kisses over her neck, she wondered if in addition to their pulses being in sync, if his resolve was melting as well. Her breathing was ragged, and a tingling was forming... and not in the pit of her stomach. This was a sensation from decidedly lower, from a place from where it would be very difficult to turn back.

When he finally pulled away and looked at her, it was with expectant eyes. She knew he was waiting for an answer.

"No," she told him. "That definitely _did not_ help."

He smirked. "Good."

She loved that smirk. She cursed herself for it. That egomaniacal, self-satisfied smirk. She wanted him and he knew it, and it was all there in the slight tilt of his lips and eyes. _Arrgh!_

Changing the subject, she asked, "Doctor, what are we going to do about Rory?"

"We'll take him to the powers that be on this planet when it's all over," he said. "Hopefully they'll find him a home."

She got up and crossed the room. Rory the pet marshmallow was currently curled up in the corner of the playpen, fast asleep, snoring softly. It was the cutest thing Martha had ever seen.

"Doctor, come and look," she said, a lilting mushiness exuding from her voice. Normally, that tone was reserved for kittens playing with yarn balls and photos of baby polar bears.

"Erm," he said. "Not just now. Give us a minute, okay?"

She looked at him from across the room. He looked pained. Now it was her turn to smirk.

* * *

"Honestly, where did you get this thing?" she asked.

"Ugh," he groaned. "I won it at a party in the States, years ago. If you could say which President was assassinated in 1901, you won a prize."

"A beer holster was the prize?"

"Yep," he said. "They thought it was hilarious."

"Okay, then," she laughed.

She looked down at her waist. A fake leather strap was looped through her belt loops and fastened in front. There was a pouch hanging at her abdomen, made for an extra large beer can. The Doctor had cut a slit in one side to make it wider and then punched two holes in the bottom. In it, sat Rory, the little Adipose, with his short legs kicking happily back and forth, and munching on a biscuit.

The little guy pointed at a reddish-brown sort of humanoid-buffalo thing passing by, and said, "Rrrrr?"

"Don't be impolite, Rory," Martha said. "He's just as puzzled by you as you are by him." She rubbed the little head (if he had a head, as it were), and giggled.

"Now, don't go getting attached," the Doctor warned. "We can't keep him."

"I know, but he still needs love," she said. "Besides, stoic man, you're the one who named him."

"Hm," he shrugged.

They were getting some sort of strange glances from folks on the street, but not, as the Doctor had feared, any animosity. He supposed that with humanoid beings walking about recently, there was cross-adoption happening all over the place nowadays. Either that, or the residents of Adipose 3 were privy to what their government or their ministry of health (or whoever) was planning to do with the fat cells on planet Earth.

When they stepped into the factory, however, two guards turned their weapons on Martha and the Doctor. No-one had reacted this way the day before, therefore, the travellers had to assume that it was the little Adipose's presence putting them on alert.

"What are you doing with that?" one of the Adiposians asked Martha, harshly.

"Oh-ho-ho, I bet you'd like to know," the Doctor responded for her. "Look, who's in charge around here?"

"Why don't you let the guys with guns ask the questions?" the other guard said.

"Because I'm the Doctor," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. "I talk. It's what I do. Kind of known for it, actually. Now! I need to know more about this operation, because it looks very much like you're trying to seed a level 5 planet for reproductive purposes. Now, if that's true, then I'll be forced to alert the Shadow Proclamation, the planet will go into stasis sentencing, and anyone who has not been cooperative will be dealt with."

The two guards looked at each other. Their faces betrayed no particular emotion, but the Doctor and Martha both knew that they had the guards on the run a bit.

"That's right," the Doctor continued. "The Shadow Proclamation. Have you met them? Creepy lot, they are. But they get the job done, don't they?"

There was a long pause. "Fine. This way," one of the guards said. "But you leave the child with us."

"No dice! Do I look completely daft? Actually, don't answer that. But he's our leverage!" The Doctor tickled Rory behind the ear and said, lips protruding, voice in a silly cadence previously reserved only for K-9, "Aren't you Rory? You're our cute little bit of leverage. Yes you are!"

The little white fat thing gurgled as it laughed, and the Doctor smiled.

"Er, attachment?" Martha reminded him.

"Right. Now where were we going?" the Doctor asked the guard.

The guard sighed heavily and reluctantly bade the Doctor and Martha follow.

They walked through the factory, with the buzzing and wrapping and a million pills moving at a million miles per hour. Occasionally the guard looked back to see if the Doctor or Martha had wandered off. Down a few hallways, through a few doors, round a few corners... eventually they came to a door marked, "Private."

The guard rapped on the door. "Matron Cophelia will be right with you." He left.

"Ooh, Matron Cophelia must be a force to be reckoned with," the Doctor muttered to Martha. "The brutish tooth-man is getting the hell out of Dodge."

The door opened, and a humanoid woman stood looking back. She had blondish hair, and looked to be about forty-five years old. She looked perfectly normal to Martha – she was even wearing what Martha would have called "Earth clothes," unlike most of the folks round here in their pointy-shouldered, emblem-sporting, chunky-sleeved...

"Hello, I'm the Doctor," he piped up with a big, cheeky smile. "This is Martha Jones, and you must be Matron Cophelia. Pleased to meet you. Don't mind if we come in."

He slipped past her slyly. Only then did the Matron register the presence of a young Adipose.

"Excuse me," Matron Cophelia said, rather in a syrupy tone of voice. She spoke like a primary school teacher lecturing a child who had been very naughty. "But what are you doing with one of our young? I ought to report you for kidnapping."

"Funny story," Martha said, putting a hand on one hip. "I took this pill, and when I woke up..." Martha gestured emphatically toward the little Adipose in the beer holster at her waist.

The Matron smiled silkily. "Isn't it miraculous?"

"No," Martha shot back. "It's illegal."

The aggravating smile never left her smug lips. Matron Cophelia returned, "And I suppose you are going to be the ones to stop me?"

Martha glanced over the Matron's shoulder and noticed the Doctor had, of course, been snooping about and had opened a panel in the wall opposite. Just then, the Doctor chimed in again, "Yeah, pretty much. Yeah."

She crossed her arms over her chest, and asked, "And how are you going to do that?"

He turned and faced her. "Well... I've set my ship to contact the Shadow Proclamation at the touch of this button," he told her, brandishing the sonic screwdriver. "One twitch of my finger and you and your thugs can be teleported out of here, against your will, with the quarter-hour."

"I see," she replied, closing her eyes slowly, then opening them again.

"But," he said, throwing his glasses onto his face, squatting before a large computer that reminded Martha of a giant glowing green jukebox. "I see here... you're a bit... well, buggered. Aren't you? Because according to this read-out... oh, Matron."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Matron Cophelia insisted. "Now get out of my office or I'll call security."

"No need," the Doctor told her. "They're already on our side. Martha, look at this."

Martha crossed the room and knelt next to the Doctor, amid the Matron's protestations.

"You see this thing? That's a radar screen. There is a ship just outside of orbit of this planet, waiting to swallow it whole. Can you see it there? And this line... that's its frequency. Oh, it's a big one. Matron Cophelia, you have a real problem here."

She sighed. "Apparently, they gave the royal family seventy orbital days to produce the Niatrene Codex, or they will put us out of syncronicity with the universe."

"The Niatrene Codex? That was destroyed thousands of years ago... what would make them think this planet has it?"

"The politics are none of my concern, Doctor," the Matron answered. "I've been hired to seed a level five planet, since this, the breeding planet, will soon be lost."

"And... out of sync with the universe? Blimey, that's one hell of a sentence," he commented. "Whoever that is out there, they've got a massive amount of power."

"Precisely," she said. "Which is why I'm to leave the planet, along with the shipment, within the week."

The Doctor stood. "Matron, what if I could stop them from harming the planet? Would you destroy your stock of the pills, and leave the Earth alone?"

"That's not my decision, I'm afraid," she replied, still smirking.

"Well, get on the horn with the royal family then, because this stops now, one way or another. And I'd rather not have to attack you if I can find another way."

* * *

"We're online!" the Doctor shouted, dancing around the console like a spastic carousel horse.

"Doctor, are you sure you can do this?" a female voice said through the comm system of the TARDIS.

"Of course I'm sure," he shrugged. "I'm not just a pretty face, you know." Martha smiled, and he caught her, and winked.

"You have the full support of the Shadow Proclamation," she said. "Please be in touch when you're through."

"_Molto bene_," he replied.

"Do you have a backup communications plan?"

"Yes, I do!"

"Then good luck, Doctor." She cut the line, and the TARDIS was left with its usual grinding and hissing. Added to that was the voice of Matron Cophelia and the fussing of Rory, freed from Martha's belt, now lying upon the navigator's chair having a little fit.

"Doctor, you betrayed me," Matron Cophelia said, sidling up next to him.

"I didn't betray you," he told her. "I needed a guarantee."

"You had my word," she insisted.

"Not good enough, sorry," he said. "You haven't yet done a thing to make me want to trust you."

She crossed her arms and sighed, beginning to make her way round the console. Something caught her attention. Martha was trying to calm the upset little Adipose, but she and the Doctor had already made it very clear that the Matron was not to come near the little guy until all of this was over.

Out of the corner of her eye, Martha was keeping careful watch on the Matron. The Doctor didn't trust her, therefore, neither did she. Yes, she _seemed _to be an innocent in all of this, simply hired to carry out a task, but who could really tell? And now, the Matron was looking in her direction, seeming concerned about the fussy creature.

The Matron made her way back to the Doctor's side. "What is your girlfriend's name again?"

The Doctor's head snapped up, and he looked at Cophelia with surprise for a second. Then he looked at Martha, and found her looking back. Without moving his eyes, he said, "Martha. Her name's Martha."

In the split second before the Matron got right in her face begging to be allowed to help care for Rory, Martha had ten thousand thoughts, and somehow none of them were coherent. _He looked right at me as he failed to deny it..._

"Martha, he's hungry," Matron Cophelia was saying. "Do you have a kitchen on this thing? I know exactly what he needs, please let me take him..."

Martha relented, and followed the Matron and her tiny charge into the TARDIS kitchen. They whipped up a healthy snack for little Rory, then watched him curl up and fall asleep on the marble countertop. Martha had to admit, the Matron had a way with Adipose babies.

The TARDIS jolted hard, though, somehow, without waking Rory. Martha's heart leapt into her throat, and she ran back out to the console room to find out what had happened.

"I put Adipose 3 in a time lock," the Doctor explained. "I made it so that they cannot be displaced from synchronicity with the universe. I basically swathed it in the _opposite_ stuff that the TARDIS is made from."

He got on the comm with the Shadow Proclamation and declared the deed done. The woman on the other end of the line informed them then that Matron Cophelia was to report back to the royal family on Adipose 1 to give full disclosure.

"How do we know she'll back off from the seeding procedure?" asked Martha.

"She is under oath," the woman told her. "If she fails to keep her oath, she shall be immediately transported to our containment cells and held for trial."

"Fine," the Doctor said. "But you make sure and protect her. She's an accomplice – there's no telling what they'll do to her for getting you lot involved. Can you send someone to Adipose 1 now to liaise the conference with the royal family?"

"Will do," she assured him.

The Doctor thanked her, then set a course for Adipose 1. The TARDIS calmed, and they were left temporarily alone. For a moment that felt like days, they didn't look at each other. Finally, Martha asked, hating herself even before it was out of her mouth, "Why didn't you tell her I'm not your girlfriend?"

"Why would I do that?"

Martha opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She smiled uncomfortably and looked at the Doctor with an exaggerated tilted head.

"I did the math in my head the other night," he told her. "Trust me. It works out."

"What, just because I love you..."

"Yes, and I need to be with you. We live together, we don't snog other people..."

"But we're still a bit lopsided, wouldn't you say?"

"How many new relationships have you known that weren't?"

She stared through him, thinking. And, well as he knew her, it was impossible to tell what she was feeling. He was half-prepared for a severe tongue-lashing.

"So..." she said finally, tentatively. "Are we a couple?"

"Well, yeah."

She moved toward him, and unsure of what else to say, she said, "But... _I love you_." It was emphatic, like a protest, like a warning.

He took her head in his hands, and brushed a thick strand of hair out of her eyes. "And I _crave_ you..."

"Okay, I think I've got him well enough wrapped that he won't wake," Matron Cophelia said, entering the room. The Doctor let go of Martha's head and they both looked in the Matron's direction. She was carrying a bundle of dishtowels in her arms, and Rory's little white sleeping face peeked out. He was snoring softly.

"We're headed back to Adipose 1," said the Doctor. "You're to meet with the royal family."

"Oh dear," she sighed nervously. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

"I asked the Shadow Proclamation to send in a liaison for your protection," he assured her. "He's not there to police you, he's there to keep you safe, okay? And make sure you show them Rory. And you'll need these."

He handed her the packet of pills they had taken from the factory and a small vial of blood he'd taken from Martha during one of her hourly physicals. "The breeding planet is in a time lock. There is no way it can be pulled out of synchronicity now. The pills are the exact lot that Martha took, and the blood is hers. They, along with Rory, will prove that you did your job and there is no need to burn any bridges."

The Matron took the pills and the vial and put them in her pocket. "Thank you, Doctor," she said with a degree of shock.

"Just go back to being a nurse, will you?" he asked. "The universe needs more like you anyhow."


	7. Incomplete

INCOMPLETE

"So, do you know a psychic dry cleaner?" asked Martha, entering the console room the following morning. Her black dress was in her hands. She held it up to the light, seeing the splotches of oily residue left behind. "Because I don't think the standard operating procedure will do the trick this time."

The Doctor looked at her sideways. "I'm so sorry I forced you to walk into the ocean fully-clothed," he said.

She shot him a dirty, but still whimsical, look. Inside, she knew, though, that she couldn't and wouldn't have traded that experience for the world.

He reached out for the dress, and she put it in his hand. He did the same as she had just done; he spread it out and held it up. "Actually, I do know someone who can sort this," he said.

"Another dodgy planet?"

"Not so dodgy. Not most of the time any way. It's Earth."

"What, an actual dry cleaner?"

"Yep."

"But this is a substance from an alien planet," she protested. "What if it has, like, a chemical compound he's never seen before and he alerts the authorities or something?"

"Oi," he exclaimed. "I don't accuse _your_ friends of intergalactic espionage."

She giggled a bit. "Sorry."

"Besides, he's not a local," the Doctor said. "He passes for human, but he's not human. He lives in Kansas, operates a legitimate business, but he does have some, er, non-local chemicals at his disposal. Remember when we had lizard guts? He's the one who fixed your blouse."

"Okay, then," she said. "Why Kansas?"

"His wife is from there. He fell in love, and what could he do? Love sees no species."

She blushed, but she did smile, which was a relief for him.

"Right then," she said. "Lead on."

When the TARDIS came to its usual screeching halt, Martha stood on the railing and peeked outside. There was corn as far as the eye could see, and perhaps a hundred metres off, a large silo. "Cool!" Martha exclaimed.

He joined her at the window. "Really? You think so?"

"Absolutely!" she said. "Don't get to see much of this in London!"

"Well then, town mouse," he said, offering his arm. "Let's go visit the country mouse."

They stepped outside the police box and pulled the door shut. Martha marvelled at the miles and miles of corn. "Just think," she said. "All this is destined to become crisps and ice cream and oil and energy..."

He wasn't really listening. "By the way, did I mention? It's 1957."

"What? Why?"

"My friend lives in the 1950's. Sorry."

Martha's heart sank. "Small town middle America in the 1950's?" she whined. "Doctor, you know what? I'm just going to stay here, okay?"

"Why would you do that?"

She pointed at her face. He was always forgetting that part.

"No, come on," he scolded, taking her hand. "Every time I come here they think I'm gay, so we'll just... you know, be extra friendly and irritate them."

She went with him reluctantly. "Yeah, but you can hold my hand and look less gay," she told him. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Be beautiful and charming," he said. "_No problemmo_."

They entered the town holding hands, and did indeed attract a few stares. The Doctor tried to be friendly while Martha simply tried not to make eye contact.

But before she knew it, they were turning the corner and entering a dry cleaning shop. The place smelled of chemicals and dust.

"Doctor!" the woman behind the counter cried out. She came round and rushed at him for a hug. "So good to see you! What brings you back to these parts, may I ask?"

She was tall and slender and awkward, with a few too many freckles and stringy strawberry blonde hair. She kept it pinned behind her ears unevenly with bobby pins, and the dress she wore was dowdy and a size or two bigger than necessary. Oddly, she wasn't wearing any shoes.

"Oh, bit of trouble offshore, I'm afraid," he answered whimsically, smiling back at her. He handed her Martha's dress, which he had slung over his shoulder.

"Offshore?" she asked, examining the dress. She put her hands on her hips. "How far offshore are we talking?"

"Adipose 3," he said. "Edge of the Mittvox Galaxy."

"Well, it's oily, but there ain't no stain we can't fix!"

"Glad to hear it," the Doctor said.

The woman looked at Martha with mischief in her eyes, then back at the Doctor.

"Oh! I'm sorry! Martha, this is Eleanor – she's the wife of the friend I told you about," he said, taking Martha's hand again. "Eleanor, this is Martha Jones."

"Oh, Martha," Eleanor cried, grabbing Martha's free hand to shake vigourously. "I've heard so much about you! He just sings your praises like you wouldn't believe!"

"Really?"

"Yes, of course! You're a medical student, right? The Doctor says you gave him your last breath once!"

"I suppose I did, yes," she confessed.

"And that you lured some mutated monster away from him, and saved his life when he'd been posessed by the sun, and took care of him while he was out of his mind at some military school out in the boondocks for months and months..."

"Right, and then she walked across the world and saved the planet from destruction," the Doctor said. "She's bloody amazing, this one."

"And she _is_ pretty, just like you said," Eleanor winked at the Doctor.

"Yes, well..." he said.

Eleanor leaned back on one hip and looked at Martha with exaggerated awe. "Look at you," she said. Martha smiled uneasily. "You've won the favour of a man who does not easily impress, my girl."

"I suppose..." Martha shrugged. "Anyway, it's lovely to meet you."

"Likewise, I'm sure," Eleanor said. "Well, come on in, you two. We'll get to work on this dress."

They followed her through a curtain and into a room with cement floors and shelves full of chemicals. Different stretching mechanisms loomed about the room, and surfaces gleamed silver. There was something antiseptic about it, and appealing to Martha. Perhaps it was simply the company.

Eleanor hung the dress on a rack and closed a metal cover around it. "Pretreatment," she said matter-of-factly.

She motioned for them to follow her up a set of stairs, and to Martha's surprise, it led into a home. The door opened into the kitchen, and the living room was to their right. At the table, hunched over a sea of paperwork, sat a tall man in a white and blue plaid shirt. He looked up and gave a start when he saw the Doctor.

"Doctor!" he yelled, standing up abruptly. "Fantastic to see you!"

"And you," the Doctor said, shaking his hand in a peculiar way. They grasped each others' wrists as they did so. The man had an accent that was clearly not local. To Martha, he had a bit of Eastern Europe in his voice, and she wondered how he had fared in this town when he'd first arrived.

"Martha, this is Keloftarolanch Devlorfylund from the planet Trekornak B-6. But, around here, he's called Jim Rigby the dry cleaner," the Doctor said to her. "Jim, this is Martha Jones."

"Oh-ho-ho!" Jim laughed, coming round the table to get a better look at Martha. "Martha! You're like a legend!"

"Oh, Jim," Eleanor scolded. "Stop it, you're going to embarrass the poor girl! Now, you two, sit and have coffee. Or, sorry – it's probably tea in your neck of the woods. Jim, can you make them some tea?"

"Coffee's fine," Martha assured them. "You're too kind anyway."

"My neck of the woods doesn't have a trademark beverage, so I'm good with anything," the Doctor said, ribbing Jim a bit. He grabbed a chair at the kitchen table and motioned for Martha to take it. He sat next to her.

"Great," Eleanor said. "I'll make up the guest room for you two."

"Oh, we can't impose..." the Doctor protested.

"No imposition," she insisted. "Besides, in this town, the two of you won't be able to get a motel room, no how. Not together, anyway. Now I'll assume that you'd both want to take the guest room, or am I being presumptuous?"

"No, not at all," the Doctor told her.

When Eleanor was gone, Jim said, "Now, Martha, my wife wouldn't like me to say so, but we really have heard tons about you."

"I know," Martha smiled. "She said so downstairs."

He gestured toward the Doctor with a tilt of his head. "How did you handle this one after he'd been through the chameleon arch?"

"Not without a bit of headache," Martha answered. "Not the brightest three months of my life."

"And how long have you two been together?" he asked, briging two coffees to the table and sitting down.

"Erm," she said, clearing her throat. She and the Doctor glanced at each other. "Two years and some change, I guess. What about the two of you? How long have you known the Doctor?"

"Oh, ages," said Jim. "He keeps changing his face! Stick with him long enough and eventually you'll find yourself travelling with a whole different man!"

"So I've heard," she laughed.

"He's known me through four regenerations," the Doctor told Martha. His eyebrows were raised for emphasis. She knew that meant _centuries _of the Doctor's personal timeline – it was quite a relationship they had.

"Wow," she said to Jim. "So you knew him through the war, and the Daleks coming back, and through Rose, and all of that."

"Who's Rose?" Jim asked.

"Wow," Martha repeated, ploughing through the question. "Doctor, he's the first non-evil person I've met who's known you longer than Captain Jack!"

Jim looked quizzically at the Doctor. The Doctor muttered, "Bit of trouble with the Master." Jim's expression seemed to say, "Ah."

The three of them chatted for a bit, and when Eleanor joined them, the four of them spent the morning in the kitchen, talking about whatever came up. The Rigbys had been married for seventeen years, no children (reproductively incompatible), and had had their dry cleaning business for eleven of those years. They had met when Jim had been sent to Earth on an agricultural study, and his decision to stay with Eleanor had resulted in ostracism from his home planet. They seemed to know almost everything about how Martha and the Doctor met, and Martha sat back with amusement and listened to her own life story being read back to her as though it were a Greek epic.

Jim got up and made some sandwiches and sliced some oranges, then went down to tend to Martha's dress. After lunch, they played a few card games, and when it was time, Jim went downstairs and fetched the dress. He hung it grandly on the doorjamb and announced, "Good as new, eh?"

"Lovely! Thank you!" Martha gushed as she fingered the dress. The texture was back to normal, the oil stains were gone – it was perfect.

"Oh, you're very welcome, beautiful lady," he said to her, kissing her cheek. "Now where will you be wearing it?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," she said. "Every time I do, something happens to it."

"Well, why bother if you're not going to _live _in it?"

"Very true," she smiled.

"Of course, you can do just as much living _out_ of the dress," he said, busying himself with cleaning up the card game.

Martha and the Doctor both knew it was an innocent comment, meant to illustrate that it doesn't take a beautiful dress to make one feel special and beautiful and alive. But with the state of mind they'd been in lately, it made them avoid one another's eye.

* * *

They declined an invitation to take dinner with the Rigbys, but decided rather to have their own private picnic in a park. Later on, they strolled hand-in-hand through a cornfield, that most fascinating of rural places in the mind of Martha Jones. She had decided not to wear the black dress tonight – she knew that if she did, there would be a flood or an earthquake or a swarm of locusts sure to adorn the garment with some disease or time-stamp activatable imprint of biblical disaster. She had made do with a pair of linen capri pants and a tank top.

Neither one had said anything for a while, and then Martha couldn't stand it any longer. "Doctor, your friend's name is Eleanor Rigby, have you ever noticed?."

He sighed. "Yes, I told Jim to choose a different surname, but he wouldn't listen."

Martha laughed. "Ten years' time, they'll have a good laugh themselves."

"I suppose they will," the Doctor said. He chuckled as well.

For another few minutes, they walked in silence while Martha stewed over a question. She didn't want to insult him, make their relationship any weirder than it already was, but she had to know something.

"Doctor?"

"Hm?"

"Did you put him up to saying that?"

"What? That he'd heard a lot about you? No, that's just how it is."

"Well, not just that he'd heard about me, but that he hadn't heard..."

He looked at her, understanding. "Oh."

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. He didn't give her one for a while.

"The answer is no, I didn't put him up to saying it," he said.

"Is it true?" she asked. "Did you really never mention Rose to them?"

"It's true," he answered. "I really never did. I hadn't realised it until now."

"Why not?" she asked. "Wasn't she just as remarkable as me?"

"Eh, I suppose."

An idea occurred to her, and she found herself voicing it before she could stop herself. "Was it that she was _so_ remarkable, that you couldn't bring yourself to mention her, to share her with someone else?"

He winced a little. God, this was messy.

"No, it wasn't that. It was... Rose was dynamic and clever. She was a kind of diamond in the rough, as I saw it, and that's part of why I loved her. But that was just it; she was a bit rough, or at least she'd had a bit of a rough background, needed a lot of rescuing. It's like she wasn't _finished_ yet, not quite a whole person."

"Oh. Wow."

"And I guess I just wasn't in any position to brag about her until I felt she was complete," he said. "Like at some point she'd have a coming-out party or something and I could reveal my work. Maybe that's petty of me, selfish – vain, even."

Martha could see why he would think that, but she knew he was exaggerating. The Doctor was not a petty man.

And then he stopped walking and faced her. He stroked her upper arms. "But you. You're something else entirely. You're dynamic and clever too, but you're a diamond among diamonds, Martha. You were complete when I met you. You didn't need rescuing, you don't need me to teach you about life. You didn't need anything from me..."

"But clearly I do. Isn't that why we're here?"

"Perhaps, but it's closer to the same thing that I need from you. With you, there's a reciprocity which Rose wasn't really capable of providing."

"I can see that, I guess."

"I loved her, but I felt like I needed to finish bringing her up before I could..." he trailed off.

"You mean you and she never...?"

"Never," he said. "I thought about it a lot, of course. Drove me to distraction, in fact. But it would have been like a schoolteacher and his pupil." He shuddered a bit.

"That's a surprise, I have to admit."

He nodded, but didn't say anything.

She turned, took his hand again and coaxed him into walking some more. "Doctor, relationships are hard. It should be about what you _both_ bring to the table, lessons you can teach to each other, but little inequity can be good, you know?"

"I hope so," he commented. "Otherwise, we're all doomed."

"But at the end of the day, the inequity needs to balance."

"You mean, if I need you more than you need me, it's okay, as long as the reverse is true sometimes as well?"

"Yes."

"That makes sense."

"Of course it does. You and I can both think of times when I've depended upon you, and vice versa, and not just when our lives are in peril and ships are crashing into the sun. And we're still here, aren't we?"

He stopped again, and faced her once more. "So do you think the fact that I need you more than you need me right now balances out the fact that you're in love with me?"

"Maybe. As long as you think there's potential for the scales to tip."

"I think there definitely is. More than potential." His eyes were soaked with worry, with sincerity, perhaps regret.

"Then I think it's fair," she said, smiling.

His expression turned on a dime, and he smiled back, a bit sideways. "Have we just made another deal?"

"Shall we seal it with a handshake?" She was being very coy now, looking at him through a tantalising bit of hair that had fallen in her eyes.

He stepped forward and took her by the shoulders. His lips met hers softly, her eyes slid closed instinctively, and her hands travelled up and pushed gently against his chest. She could feel both hearts racing against her palms, and her own pulse insisting hard inside her veins. He moved his hands up to cup her cheeks and chin, and his tongue pushed delicately into her mouth. She tugged at it with her lips and teased back with her own tongue.

When at last he pulled away, he asked, "Shall we go back to the house?"

She nodded, leaning into him as he put an arm around her. Neither of them said anything on the slow jaunt back to the Rigbys'. They enjoyed the feel of being together, the heat of each others' bodies, the vivid memory of their first real kiss.

When they arrived, the Doctor let them inside, and they found that Jim and Eleanor were already asleep. They turned on no lights, but the moon shone in from the outside, bathing the house in a blue glow. Martha sat on the sofa and looked back up at him, inviting him to join her. He did, and they resumed where they had stopped in the cornfield.

He rested his arm and elbow on the back of the sofa and cradled her head in the crook of his arm as he kissed her. She unbuttoned his suit coat so she could feel the warmth inside, be closer to his skin. And as time progressed, his grip became tighter, his breathing came out in forced moans, and everything about him grew insistent and desirous.

A sense of danger came over Martha as the Doctor's tongue probed between her lips once again, and her body flushed with heat in response. A snog standing in a cornfield was one thing, but this was another. A private living room, a warm house, a comfy sofa, a man clearly inflamed, the 'elders' fast asleep and a bed waiting for them twelve feet away...

And then he took his lips on the journey past her ear and down her neck which they had taken last time the moment had struck, and his tongue found a sweet spot and she gasped, digging her fingers into his flesh. This gesture gave her such a surge of lust, for a brief moment, she thought it was a foregone conclusion: their relationship would be sealed right here, tonight on this sofa in a rain of frantic panting and flying clothes and reckless momentum. Her mind was filled with images; capture, ecstasy, release, recovery... then the bed, tangled sheets, slower movements, a new momentum, a new release...

She knew they'd be here all night.

But then he said it. Four words changed everything, at least for now. "Don't ever leave me," he whispered desperately into her ear.

Her eyes flew open as she tore herself away from the images melting in her brain. New revelations tortured her now.

When she didn't say anything, with the same desperation in his voice, he insisted, "Martha, say it! Promise me!" as his lips travelled lithely over her skin.

He sounded like a child, and there was too much need there. She knew that feeling all too well, and she knew what the Doctor would have done in her situation.

"Doctor..." she whispered back.

He paused and looked at her. His hands and fingers moved over her face, caressing her eyes and hair, exploring her softness. His lips curled into a wry, clueless, smile. "I think you are complete," he whispered to her.

She smiled back, tears forming in her eyes. "But I don't think you are," she said. "Not just now."

His hands dropped from her face, and his entire body seemed to lose its impetus. His eyes went to a pleading, helpless expression, and he said, "I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

The tears came, just like little sprinkles of rain down glass, and she said, "I think we should say good night."

"Yeah," he whispered. He took her hand and squeezed it. "Go," he said, without looking at her.

She stood up, and plunged her right hand into his unruly hair. She let her fingers stroke through slowly, just once, and she said, "I love you." He looked up at her and opened his mouth to speak. She stopped him. "You don't need to say anything. Just know that I love you."

As she looked back from the bedroom door, he settled himself on his back, a throw pillow beneath his head. He smiled at her in commiseration, and she blew him a kiss and closed herself inside.

When the sun came up, neither one of them had slept.


	8. Some Thoughts and a Crisis

SOME THOUGHTS AND A CRISIS

Spending centuries travelling in a space craft with a highly advanced gourmet kitchen had apparently done wonders for both the Doctor's palate and his culinary talents. In the morning, he treated his friends to Shiitake mushroom scramblers (_unpronounceable_ in Kansas in 1957) with virgin olive oil, rosemary and fresh basil. He also whipped up a Béchamel sauce (a mighty feat without burning a pan pre-Teflon) and with it, created a new kind of casserole out of the red potatoes and Polish sausage he found in the fridge. He cut up some oranges and pears for good measure and laid them out pleasingly, and made the perfect pot of coffee for the morning after a sleepless night.

And not the nice kind of sleepless night. Blimey.

By the time the four of them were finished, each felt like they had consumed their weight, but Martha and the Rigbys were also singing the praises of a delicious meal prepared by a creative and considerate chef.

"Doctor, it was so nice of you to treat us to breakfast," Eleanor sighed. "How early did you get up?"

"Oh, it wasn't that early," he smiled. "Besides, you've been kind enough to let us use your guest room – the least we can do is help out with the meals."

"Well, you're our guests, not our boarders," Eleanor said, touching the Doctor's forearm with affection. "But I'll certainly accept a gourmet meal anytime you'd like to make one!"

"So can we talk you into staying another night, Doctor? Martha?" asked Jim.

"Oh, I think it's best if we move on," the Doctor said. "Don't you think so, Martha?"

The weight of their awkward sleeping arrangement was in his eyes.

"I do," she agreed. But she looked upon her hosts with thanks. "But this was really lovely. It's nice to travel with the Doctor and meet normal folks."

"Hey now," Jim protested. "Be careful of who you're calling normal!"

The Rigbys came out to the field where the TARDIS was parked, in order to say goodbye. They sent the travellers on their way with three large burlap bags filled with ears of corn, and Martha found that she was rather unduly excited about this. Though, she resolved to save expressing her excitement until she and the Doctor were alone, and she could be as geeky as she wanted.

They bade each other goodbye and the TARDIS dematerialised.

After neither of them had said anything for a while, Martha said, "Thanks for breakfast today. I didn't know you could cook."

"What? I've made lunch for you loads of times."

"Oh, that's not cooking – that's making sandwiches. That's preparing. Even my mum can do _that_. Shiitake mushrooms, though, with fresh basil in eggs? And _creating_ a casserole out of just what's in the fridge? That's some true talent. They have entire reality shows for that," she laughed. "Though I feel like there's a brick in my stomach."

He shrugged. "Well, you know. Got to give something back. They had us stay, made up the guest room and all, so I decided to treat them to a special _thank you for your hospitality_ breakfast."

"Well, that's bollocks, but all the same, it was a lovely meal."

He didn't look at her. He just continued turning dials and monitoring instruments on the console, as he asked, "What's bollocks?" It was the phrasing and intonation of a man who has been caught in a lie.

"You wanted to get up early so that the Rigbys wouldn't know that you slept on the sofa," she said. There was no bitterness or mockery in her voice, she was simply stating a fact.

"Maybe," he mumbled.

"Because then they would ask questions, and you'd either have to tell the complicated truth or tapdance around it..."

"I'm a good tapdancer," he shot at her, a little too seriously.

"You're the best," she conceded, without hesitation. "But this is very personal, therefore, you wanted to avoid the confrontation. Don't worry – it's not a judgement, just an observation. I would have done the same."

"Yeah," he whispered, but just barely.

"Doctor, are you upset with me for last night?"

"No," he was quick to say. "I'm not. You were right." His words said one thing, however, his tightly-locked jaw said another.

"I think I was," she agreed, in spite of the tightness of his expression. "It's not our time yet."

He nodded, again, without looking at her.

"Someday soon," she said. "I will find out whether you sleep in that suit."

"And someday soon," he returned uneasily. "I will have that black dress on the floor where it looks best."

His innuendo was genuine – he was trying to show that he wasn't angry or disappointed or deflated, but Martha knew that he was a little bit of all those things. She was too – how could she not be?

But with his tentative words, she knew that the game had changed now. She knew that their roles had switched somewhat, at least temporarily. The Doctor was, for all intents and purposes, a man. Therefore, his ego was bruised from last night, and she needed to give him time to heal it, and help him do so.

Blimey, who knew that _not_ making love on spur of the moment could cause this much tension in the morning? For millions of years, all over the universe, people had _not _made love – it happened all the time! So what was the problem here today?

That, of course, was a daft question. She knew where the angst came from perfectly well. Trouble was, though the morning-after awkwardness had been causing anxiety for time immemorial, Martha had no precedent for what to say or do when dealing with someone that one so clearly _hadn't _slept with_._

And so for now, she went for the humour. It turned out to be the right call.

"You should have just made up a story about us fighting over you getting caught in the hay loft with the Cornhusk Queen at the barn dance," she suggested with feigned smugness. "That's what any thinking person would have done."

He smiled, and actually looked her in the eye for the first time since they'd left Kansas. "Quite a likely story," he said. "But bound to cause trouble the next time one of the Rigbys sees the Cornhusk Queen in town. She'd wonder why the local dry cleaner thinks she shagged a gay man in a livestock cubicle. Or maybe she wouldn't – who knows what goes on in these little towns?"

"Conspiracies abound."

"And by the way, why would it necessarily be _me_ getting caught messing about? Why can't _you_ get caught with the emcee from the square dance or something?"

"Becaaaaaaause," she answered, mock-exasperated, and she clicked her tongue. "Everyone knows that emcees only shag other emcees. There's a whole underground network of them. It's the reason why I've never met a bloke in a bar, asked him what he did, and had him answer, 'I'm an emcee.'"

"Oh, _that's _why? Well, I always thought it was because they talk too loud and are turned away at the door."

"No, it's the network," she insisted with humourous certainty.

"I see, I see," he said. "So do they stick to their own kind, and only cavort with other square dancing emcees, or do they branch out to jazz club cats and the guys who mediate at poetry slams?"

"It depends," she told him, shrugging. "Your more worldly types will be more experimental, of course. But something tells me that square dancing emcees are generally a homogenous crowd. I don't know – it could be a stereotype."

"Probably so," he commented, crossing his arms and leaning on the railing. "It seems like an arrangement like that would lead to a lot of emcee inbreeding..."

As they continued this ridiculous discussion as though it were real (something the Doctor admired in Martha was her ability to spar with him), both of them relaxed. Martha was not a fan of burying difficult memories or having elephants in the room, but she knew that this particular 'issue' would arise again, and there would be plenty of opportunity for healing down the line. After all, neither one of them was dysfunctional, it was just that perhaps their relationship had not incubated for quite long enough yet...

* * *

In a couple of days, the Doctor seemed himself again: crazed hair, machine-gun speech, the floors squeaking under his fast-moving trainers. They both went back to life and interaction more or less as usual, tacitly backing off from physical contact for a bit, and re-affirming their friendship. They finished watching the _Harry Potter _series together, then started over (the fourth one was still the Doctor's favourite), and began cultivating an herb garden in the TARDIS' cloisters. The Doctor promised to teach Martha how to cook with the oregano and basil they had planted. They stopped off on a few different planets to try the food or experience the theatre, and in their travels they helped lengthen the water supply of a dying town, jump-started the dead life-pods of a galactic cruiser from the TARDIS' energy stores, and brought corn to a planet that had not yet learned agriculture. They put out small fires, did favours, enjoyed themselves. Life in the Doctor's world resumed, and to the outside observer, it would seem that their sexual near-miss never crossed their minds again.

On the contrary, of course, the Doctor thought a lot over those weeks about that old, pesky, human continuum of intimacy. He often wondered if he'd overstepped it that night, if trying to push a physical occurrence with Martha was literally out-of-order. But he reminded himself just as often that humans are complex when it comes to relationships, and that the continuum was different for every person, and, blast it, Martha Jones hadn't come with a manual. As much as he didn't want to have to _discuss_ it with her (he would discuss many things that were difficult or unpleasant, but he stopped short at asking _where is this relationship going?_), he also didn't want to push again. For one thing, he hadn't liked being rejected, no matter how sensible it ultimately had been. For another, he didn't want to alienate Martha. But, he also knew that going too long without _making a move_ as they say, could just as easily alienate her, especially with the way things had gone for them in their first year travelling together. He didn't want her to think that he'd regressed back into the blunt instrument he had been back then.

And underlying all of that, complicating everything, was a driving desire that had been awakened that night in the Rigby's living room. With all of the doubt, all of the manoeuvring, all of the thoughts of alienation and continuums, there was now a plain and simple lust at the centre of it, which hadn't been there before. The idea of making love to Martha, having what they'd missed, was no longer a random fancy that he thought might be really nice. It was now a physical need, a complete distraction, and frankly, in his mind, something of a problem. He wanted her now, but ugh, he had to go and get all _intellectual_ about it. God, being human was hard.

For her part, Martha thought a lot over those weeks about their personal missions. He had already embarked upon a mission to make her stay, and now, in an abstract way, she was trying to do the same for him. She wanted to help him build his confidence again. She laughed to herself as she thought about what an unlikely thing that was – the Doctor was not a demure or insecure man. He wielded the powers of time and space as though they were guns in holsters at his hips, commanded the loyalty of armies and Time Agents and prophets and wizards, could change the polarity of the Earth's magnetic core with his sonic screwdriver if he so desired. But she could see in his eyes that when it came to matters of the heart and other organs, he was just like everyone else. And so, she used this bit of respite to let him guide her, and kept her eyes and mind open for opportunities to show him her love. She didn't have to try very hard – longing gazes at him came naturally for her, and she threw in a few furtive and flirty glances. And she made sure to let him know every time he did something "distracting."

Of course, she felt the tug of lust underlying everything as well, but for her, it had been a way of life for quite a while. She'd wanted him so desperately for so long, her desire lay abated beneath the surface like a still pond, constant and carefully undisturbed. She had long since found ways to _feel _the sensations it gave her without allowing it to drown her, and so in some ways, this post-Kansas period was easier for her than for the Doctor. And the pulling-back of physical contact was good, she felt. It was cleansing. They had been moving so fast ever since she agreed to travel with him again, it's like they'd been rushing to the finish line, to get the physical part over with as soon as possible. Now, they'd been given another chance. When the time came for them to fall together, they would both be complete people.

* * *

"What's that sound?" she shouted, suddenly covering her ears with her palms. It was thirty-seven days since they'd left the Rigby's home, and it had been three days since they'd left the TARDIS.

"Not sure," he yelled back. "This old ship has so many bells and whistles..."

In response to the urgent, high-pitched blaring, he stood up from the table where they'd been working on a five-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle and switched on a monitor in the corner. He killed the noise, but then a blip showed itself upon the screen and began making a less skull-shattering version of the same sound. Martha wandered over and looked at it, heard the sound, but of course it meant nothing to her.

He tugged at his hair on both sides of his head. "I can't remember what that means," he said. "It's been centuries since I've heard the TARDIS make that sound. The last time was... _ohhh, no!_"


	9. Potatoes at Arms

POTATOES AT ARMS

The Doctor turned and dashed down the corridor toward the console room. Martha followed, asking the inevitable "What, Doctor? What's gone wrong?"

He threw a bunch of switches on the console and pulled the main monitor over for a better look.

She asked again, "What is it? The last time this alarm went off was when?"

"The last time was in the early 1960's, I'd happened through during the Cuban Missile Crisis. It means there's a nuclear threat, and it's coming from Earth."

"What? Why?"

"Well, you know what you lot are like," he shrugged. "Alarmist. There's probably something hovering in the sky, so you've just _got_ to take it out, whether or not it means starting an intergalactic war."

Martha felt just a little bit affronted, but she knew it was true. Still, it was impolite of him to say so. It _was_ her species he was deriding, after all.

"This is weird," he said, looking at the monitor. "I can't see the Earth."

"What do you mean you can't see it?"

"It's there, it's just..." he whispered, without moving his lips. "Look outside, will you? Just don't lean out or we'll lose the airlock."

She obeyed. "Is that the Earth?" she asked, pointing to the milky, cloudy thing looming not far away. "It looks like it has a cataract, like it's going blind."

"Interesting metaphor," the Doctor said, coming up behind her to have a look for himself. "Quite apt too. The Earth is a great big eyeball."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's envelopped in some kind of gas, but I don't know yet what's causing it," he said. "I definitely don't like the looks of it. The Earth covered with swarming gases and the planet's about to go nuclear? They must be mightily scared down there... I'll bet there's pandemonium in the streets."

"Oh God," she whispered, thinking of the family she'd left behind.

"I wonder if I can get close enough to analyse the gas without getting caught up in it."

"What about the bombs?"

"Yes, well, there's that," he said. "But I'll just bet it's related. I find a little sample of gas is easier to deal with than your average nuclear warhead, don't you?"

"Can't say I've ever given it that much thought." Martha went back to the console and stared at a screen that was not giving her any information that made any particular sense to her. "Well, can you tell how soon they will launch?"

He joined her. "Not really," he confessed. "But I have some people I can ring." He dug in a storage compartment just below the controls and handed her a little slip of yellow paper. It was a phone number.

"Whose number is this?"

"Some friends of mine," he said. "They might have an in."

"What are you doing?"

"Steering. Will you please shut the door?"

"Okay then," she said, walking over to kick the door closed. She extracted her mobile phone from where she'd left it between two panels on the console and dialled the number.

A frantic male voice came over the line. "Unified Intelligence Taskforce, Officer Fenway speaking."

"Hi," she said. "This is Martha Jones..."

"Yes?"

"Erm, hi."

"Ma'am, we are extremely busy just now..." he said exasperatedly.

"Yes, I know... please don't hang up!" she sputtered. "Doctor, what do I say?"

Distractedly, he pulled and twisted at the controls. "Just tell them you're with _me,_" he said. "They'll put you through right to the top, and when that happens, hand it over."

She nodded. "I'm with the Doctor. We need to speak to someone who can help."

"The Doctor?"

"Yes, the Doctor."

"_The_ Doctor? The Time Lord?"

"Yes."

There was a long pause, and then the young man's voice said, "Very good. Hold the line, please."

"Whoa, it worked," she said to the Doctor. "Who are these people?"

"I told you," he said. "Some old friends."

She paced around the console room for another minute, and then, "Colonel Mace, speaking. Is this the Doctor?"

"No, sir, but I have him right here. Just a moment."

The Doctor dashed round the console and grabbed the phone. "Hello? Who is this?"

Martha listened to half a conversation as the Doctor thrust a plastic apparatus of some sort into her hands. He gestured for her to go to the door. He whispered to her, "Like a syringe."

She opened the TARDIS door and looked out. The vessel was suspended just atop the Earth's atmosphere. She could reach down and _touch_ the cloud of gas that was currently choking her home world.

"What?" she heard the Doctor cry out. "You've done what? Have you lost your minds down there? Where's the Brigadier?"

She played with the moving parts of the thing he had put in her hand. There was a hard plastic tube, maybe four feet long, which came almost to a point, and a kind of hose off the side of it. The hose had a piece which moved in and out rather tightly. She understood. "Doctor, the airlock?" she asked.

He covered up the mouthpiece of the phone. "It will be fine, you've got thirty seconds once your hand moves out of the TARDIS, but make sure you don't lean your head out!"

She nodded as the Doctor went back to shouting into the phone, and muttering something about a man in Peru.

She stuck the open end of the tube into the vast space of white smoke before her, and pulled on the moving piece inside the hose. The gas was sucked into the device, like a syringe, as the Doctor had said. There was a flap toward the end of the tube, and Martha pushed it back into place, and it served to lock in the sample she had taken. She stood up, shut the door, and looked at the simple apparatus with satisfaction.

"Aaagh!" the Doctor growled, throwing shut the flap of the mobile phone. "Morons!"

"What's wrong?" she asked, handing him the sample.

He took the sample and headed for the console, then threw on his glasses. "I rang up UNIT to see if they could get on the horn and track down the threat, _hoping_ they might help talk down the maniacs. Turns out UNIT _are_ the maniacs."

"Are you kidding? Your friends are causing the nuclear threat?"

He clicked his tongue with frustration. "The gas is coming from the cars, from some kind of GPS navigation thing..." he said, trying to find the right setting to use to plug in the plastic tube so the TARDIS could analyse the sample.

"What, Atmos?"

"Yeah, that," he said. "Apparently, they've been planted all over the planet as a weapon..."

"Blimey, everyone I know has one of those, including me."

"Eight hundred million cars on planet Earth are now exhuding poisonous gas, and the atmospheric saturation level is at sixty per cent," he said, his brain moving even faster than his mouth. "Apparently, at eighty, people start dying. So what do this lot do? They fire up the nukes! Ah! Here it is!" he cried out, shoving the plastic tube into place.

"Well, if they know that at eighty per cent, it causes death, then they must know what it is, like, it's chemical composition or whatever," Martha reasoned, leaning on the console facing the Doctor. "So why don't they try to fight it instead of blasting it out of the sky?"

"Suprisingly, or not surprisingly, depending on how you look at it, they have no idea what the composition is," he told her, staring at the instruments. "They know it's alien, but they're not able to pinpoint the origin because, well, they don't have me. Not anymore, they don't. Which is why... stop it!" he told the TARDIS, pounding the edge of the console in response to an apparent malfunction. He calmed again, and leaned against the railing as the vessel went back to proper operation.

"Why didn't they call you straight away, as soon as they knew something was dodgy with the Atmos devices?"

"Because they don't have anyone left on staff who still knows how to get hold of me," he said. "The Brigadier could have done, but he's lost in Peru somewhere."

"So if they're online already with the nukes, then how long have we got?"

"I convinced them to wait sixty minutes," he said, burying his hands in his already frazzled hair. "I couldn't get them to stand down completely."

She waited. She had a million questions, and was trying to sort through them, work out which ones she could answer for herself before expressing any of them to the Doctor. She wandered over to the door and asked if it was all right to open it. He nodded. She looked out once again over the thick white surface. She knew she couldn't lean out, so she asked, "So there's a ship up here somewhere?"

He uttered a "Mmm," of assent. She noted that he was chewing his thumbnail, which she had rarely seen him do.

She looked outside again. She saw no ship. "Well, couldn't we just fly around the Earth until we see it?"

"I suppose," the Doctor said. "But if they're hostile, then I don't want to be seen."

"We're in a teeny-tiny blue box against the entire Earth as a backdrop," she reminded him. "I doubt they'd notice."

"Depends who they are," he told her, peering over his glasses at her.

She sighed. _So we wait._

The TARDIS began making yet another alarm sound, and the Doctor exclaimed, "Ha! Here we go!" He flew round to the monitor and squinted at it. "Caesophane concentrate," he muttered, again without moving his lips.

"What's that?"

Not really answering her, he continued to mutter, "Bosteen, Probic 5."

She looked at him expectantly, and he looked back blankly, eyes still squinted behind his lenses, searching for something.

"Bosteen and Probic 5?" he asked her. "What is that?"

She knew he didn't really expect an answer. He repeated those two chemicals over and over, eventually dwindling to a whisper. "Why does that sound familiar?" he was asking now. He might have been talking to the TARDIS, Martha wasn't sure.

And then, "Ah!" he screamed out. "It's clone feed! Sontarans!"

"What are Sontarans?"

"They're... well, they're kind of like walking sledgehammers from the planet Sontar," he said. "And they do not – repeat – _do not_ give up. Ever. They've been at war for fifty-thousand years with the same civilisation..."

"Are they dangerous?" she asked.

"Well, of course they are," he told her, though his tone was lighter. "But frankly, you've seen worse."

She raised her eyebrows.

"But this is very, bad for your planet, Martha Jones," he said, removing his glasses, eyes penetrating her. "Very, very bad. Because the Sontarans never surrender. They glory in battle and death. And if your planet fires nukes at their starship, they will send in the troops from their homeworld, and this time, it won't be about cloning... it'll be about vengeance and wiping out your species. Intergalactic nuclear war, and the Earth will lose, mark my words. Oh, this is very bad."

"So what do we do?" she asked, suddenly quite panicked.

He was using his thumb and forefinger to scratch both eyes. "We have to make ourselves known so that we can... _help the Sontarans!_" He pulled his hand away from his face and his voice raised pitch by about an octave. "We're going to try to _help_ the bloody Sontarans, how rubbish is that? Oh, this is... this is just..." His face was registering disgust, as though he had swallowed a bitter pill.

He let out a _pfff_ sound in lieu of an adjective, and grudgingly dragged himself back to the console. "Blimey, I must care about this little planet of yours," he muttered to Martha. He paused, and then sighed. He typed in a command or two, then said, "Okay, right now, we're hovering over New Zealand. My guess is that the Sontarans are parked above Great Britain since it's UNIT that's got the first line of nukes set to go. Let's just get this over with."

She had no idea what to say. The Doctor was clearly distressed over this Sontaran business and having to take their side, so to speak. She had no context for his feelings, no idea of the danger, no clue how to comfort him, so she stayed silent and waited for him to ask her opinion or give her a task or...

She felt the TARDIS move, but it wasn't the usual shooting-through-the-vortex jostle, but rather more like a glide. She could tell without asking that they were skimming across the surface of the gas cloud covering the Earth, and the Doctor was using good old-fashioned radar to get a visual on the Sontarans' ship. Eventually, a rotating blob of something came into view, and the Doctor said, "Hello, hello."

"We want them to see us?"

"Won't be long."

Within a minute, they heard a _thwoosh-thwack_ sound, four times over. Something was landing on the sides of the TARDIS.

"What's that?" Martha asked, sidling up close. She instictively wrapped one hand round his arm, and took his hand tightly in the other. It was the first close-ish physical contact in over a month.

The Doctor was calm, and he squeezed her hand. "It's okay," he said. "They're going to bring us in, but first they have to surround us with a teleportation field. They've got these... pod things, they stick them to objects they can't put into stationary teleport gates."

She swallowed hard, suddenly quite nervous. An eerie metallic sound ensued, surrounding the Doctor, Martha and the TARDIS, and they all felt a slight displacement. The sound and movement stopped all at once, and the Doctor whispered, "We're in."

* * *

A high-pitched, choked laugh was coming from somewhere outside the TARDIS. The Doctor and Martha looked at each other ominously, and then he led her by the hand to the door.

"A TARDIS!" the laughing voice was saying. "There is only one race in the universe which travels with TARDISes! And there is only one of them left! Oh, Doctor! How foolish you have been! You've blown your cover, sir! In basic battle principles, you have failed."

The Doctor opened the door, and stepped out into the dark interior of the Sontaran cruiser with Martha. The whole place looked like a 1980's video arcade to her.

"And yet, I admire your willingness to face your enemies," the voice said. Martha could now see that the voice belonged to an alien shaped like a potato, wearing some kind of space armour. Curiously, he was about the same height as she was, perhaps 5'1", and she could see what the Doctor had meant when he called this a race of 'walking sledgehammers.' They were short, squat, and solid. She wondered if this alien, or his comrades, could plough through a brick wall. "I am General Staal."

"Staal," the Doctor nodded. "Good name. Strong. Almost as if it's what you were going for."

"Indeed it was," Staal confirmed. "I should have thought that would be readily apparent to a Time Lord. Did your people not also choose names that were indicative of their characteristics and status in the world... Doctor?"

The Doctor furrowed his brow, and Martha, in spite of her nervousness, stifled a giggle. The Doctor had forgotten to mention that they were _overly literal_ walking sledgehammers. Perhaps the travellers should curb their more sarcastic tendencies?

"So," the Doctor began. Martha recognised the beginnings of one of his trademark oratories. "What're you lot doing up here? I mean, it seems like you ought to be hanging about above a more hostile planet who are concerned with Sontaran warfare, say, Juneau Roque 7? The Earth, they're barely aware there's life outside their own world, can't think what they might've done to you."

"That's none of your concern," Staal insisted.

"General Staal, I'm trying to help you," the Doctor said. "Those weapons they have trained on you will turn this ship, and everything in it, to dust. Not to mention contamination of the airspace around it."

"We do not fear death!"

"Are you insane?" the Doctor asked, already knowing that the answer was 'no,' the right adjective was more akin to _stubborn_. Sledgehammer-like.

"Sanity has nothing to do with it, sir," Staal said. "It's about honour."

"And you think it's honourable to suffocate six billion people, do you? Well whatever your purpose, whatever you're doing, you're wrong," the Doctor growled.

"You will be silent, sir."

The Doctor was nowhere near finished, of course, and Martha could sense a tightening in him. He was winding up to deliver the _coup de grâce_. "And you've lost your sense of honour."

This stopped the chatty Sontaran in his tracks. "What did you say?" Staal demanded, eyes wide.

"You heard me! You're a bloody coward! No honour, no fight left in you! Look at you – using gas to to drown a helpless planet! Oh, that's very hands-off."

"Silence!" Staal demanded, and five other officers leaned forward and trained their weapons on the Doctor and Martha. "You are _my _prisoner, Time Lord! Not the other way round!"

"So it would seem," the Doctor sighed. "All right then, I'll shut up. After I say this: clone feed, a choking planet and nuclear warheads do not make for a happy afternoon." And then he made a gesture signaling that he was zipping his mouth shut.

Staal stared at the Doctor for a long moment. His big potato face seemed incredulous. Finally, he spoke. "Clone feed, did you say? Your knowledge is impossible!"

"And yet, there it is," the Doctor shrugged. "If you don't back down in the next, oh, forty-five-or-so minutes, you're going to be nuked and you'll have to abandon your incubation plan. I mean, you'd have to do that anyway, because I'd stop you, but being vaporised seems like a much less efficient way of re-routing your objective."

"As I have told you, Sontarans do not back down," Staal shouted. "The mere suggestion is an insult. Tie them up!"

Another Sontaran came from nowhere with some twine and forced the Doctor and Martha into a corner. On the floor, a beam was bolted down with just enough room for the twine to get through. It looked as though it had been made for just such an occasion, and Martha suspected that in fact, it had been.

"What is dying going to get you, eh? Tell me that," demanded the Doctor just before a Sontaran kicked him in the back of the knees and sent him sinking to the floor.

"Glory," Staal said. "We Sontarans glory in the honour of battle and death."

The Doctor rolled his eyes, and whispered to Martha, "Told you."

They were left there, back-to-back, hands tied together. As soon as the Sontarans were out of earshot, Martha asked said, "Please tell me the sonic is in your back pocket and all I have to do is reach imperceptibly for it and we'll be free."

He inhaled strongly and exhaled in a great big sigh. "No such luck. Breast pocket like always."

"Damn," she hissed. "I was hoping that getting tied up was all part of your master plan."

"Well, it wasn't part of _this_ plan."

She didn't see the smirk, but she caught the tone. She opened her mouth with shock, and finally said, "Cheeky!"

He grinned, chuckling like a child. He sighed heavily, then summarised, "Well, it doesn't change the fact that we've got forty-five minutes to convice the most stubborn beings in the universe to pull back from breeding on Earth, or the human race will start an interstellar war which they will be sure to lose."

"And we get vaporised," she added.

"And we get vaporised, yeah."


	10. To Go With Honour

TO GO WITH HONOUR

Half an hour of alien military protocol, bleeping screens, slurs upon humans, predictions of an excellent new Sontaran race...

The Doctor and Martha were still tied down, still at a loss, and thirty minutes closer to vaporisation. Occasionally, they would speak, exchange ideas, wishes, ironies, but mostly they just watched and waited. Martha suspected that the Doctor was waiting for his opportunity to strike, so she listened as well.

"It seems that their countdown has begun again, General," one of the Sontarans was saying. "They nearly deployed, and then delayed. Cowardice, now doubt."

"Oh, yeah," the Doctor piped up from over in the corner. "That was me, sorry. Tried to buy you some time."

"Your effort, as you know, was in vain," Staal said. He turned toward some sort of statistics screen. "Hmph! The humans have violated one of the cardinal laws of battle: never flinch."

"Oh yeah?" Martha asked. "Real law and order types, you are?"

"Of course!" he shot back. "Without law there is only chaos, and battle cannot be forged in chaos. Besides, where is the honour in doing as one pleases? Any idiot can do that. Real war calls for working within a structure!"

"Hmm," Martha said. "So what are you planning on doing with that planet down there?"

"Martha, stay out of this, please," the Doctor requested. "I don't want them teleporting you into the middle of the Hanging Opal Galaxy."

"No, Doctor," Staal protested. "Allow your female to talk. She seems to think she's on to something, and I am finding it diverting."

Martha raised both eyebrows at these words. She wasn't sure if she was more insulted by the Sontaran calling Martha _your female_, or by _she seems to think_, as though she were a small child playing make-believe. It did say a lot about the Sontarans as a race, however. The Doctor, for his part, let his head fell back against hers and his body tightened perceptibly. The whole thing had made him a bit nervous as well, though he was more afraid that the affront would cause Martha to say something angry and stupid.

"We are breeding," Staal continued. "Our clone feed will soon occupy eighty per cent of Earth's atmosphere, rendering the planet uninhabitable for the human race, and paradise for a Sontaran army! We will then install our cloning centres all over Earth and our race will thrive with a newly-cleared planet to call home."

_Take a page from the Doctor's book_, she told herself. _We've got no hands, no feet, no sonic screwdriver. All we've got is our mouths and our wits._

The Doctor was always putting those two things into tandem to get himself out of situations – sometimes annoyingly so. She had told him once, "You _talk_ all the time, but you never _say_ anything!" And he always took the initiative in these areas, so she decided she'd plant a little seed of seeds.

"Seeding a level five planet is against galactic law," Martha said gravely. She had been listening closely when the Doctor had tried to fend off Matron Cophelia with this same argument.

The Doctor's head would have snapped round, and he'd have gazed at her with amazement if he'd been able to. As it was, she felt him jerk a little bit, and then mutter, "Very good," with a bit of the surprised, proud teacher in his voice.

"Ah, and you would be correct, my girl," Staal replied. "Except that which defines a _level five_ planet, as your Doctor can tell you, is the population/density of so-called _intelligent_ inhabitants. Once the population reaches below an average of point-five per square mile, or the intelligence index sinks below Lorton's Rung four..."

The Doctor muttered to Martha, "That means use of tools."

"...then it is no longer a level five planet. It is unknown whether the gas will cause the human race to die first, or become brain-damaged. Either way, it makes room for us to clone our soldiers legally."

"So that's it then?" she asked, feigning disbelief.

"State your meaning."

"A _technicality_ is your argument?" she asked.

Staal stared at her. His expression was unreadable to her. The Doctor whispered, "Brilliant."

"The oh-so-honourable, glory-in-proper-battle Sontarans are hiding behind some rubbish technicality that allows them barely to _squeak by_?"

A pause, while anger flashed across Staal's eyes. Then he demanded, "Doctor, you will tell your female to hold her tongue!"

"Mm-hm," the Doctor nodded. "I'll get right on that."

"You try my patience, girl!" the potato man shrieked.

"Only 'cause you know I'm right!" she shot back. "That's a bloody coward's trick and you know it!"

"And to boot," the Doctor chimed in. "You're going to get yourselves blown up. And us. That's the part I like the least."

"Well, what would you have us do? Admit defeat and run from here with our tails between our legs?"

"No. Let me help you!"

"How?" he asked, still a hypothetical, highly sceptical question. He crossed his arms across his barrel chest and looked at the Doctor with scorn.

"You could start by acknowledging that you were wrong," Martha suggested.

"Never! The Sontarans do not admit defeat! Staal the Undefeated will not be the first."

Martha sighed in exasperation. "It's not admitting defeat, it's being brave enough to face your mistakes! There is so much honour in that, Staal, I can't believe you don't see it. Otherwise, you're just hiding from something unpleasant, and would the Sontarans do that?"

"You could continue by letting me find you a decent, empty planet for your breeding," the Doctor added. "Otherwise, you'll be vaporised by nuclear warheads, and you will go down in galactic history as sneaky, underhanded beings who got killed because they tried to get in through the back door."

"What are you suggesting, sir?"

"I'm suggesting possibly Eruvang 2, or Fadsnell – both totally uninhabited now," the Doctor replied. "Go there, build your armies, make more Sontarans until the planet is bursting, only leave the Earth alone! And move this boat the hell out of here so that we don't _die!_"

"It's too late for that, General," one of the other Sontarans said gravely. He was staring at a screen, both hand clasped on its sides. "The humans have deployed their weapons."

"As I said before," Staal commented, turning his attention momentarily away from the Doctor. "The bravery of idiots is bravery nonetheless."

"We have three minutes until the warheads reach us, sir," the second Sontaran said.

"Untie me, Staal. I can help," the Doctor growled.

Ignoring the Time Lord, Staal said to his comrade, "It's been a pleasure serving with you, Shutes." They engaged in a kind of handshake.

"Staal!" the Doctor screamed this time. "Don't be a fool! Untie me!"

For the first time, Martha began to tug at the twine to find out if there was any weakness. In the end, she suspected, her efforts were only causing the knots to grow tighter.

General Staal began moving around the room, exchanging similar greetings and goodbyes with other comrades.

"Staal! Think of your legacy! Staal the Undefeated, they call you – Sontarans do not acquiesce to death, of all things! Not when there is still time!"

"Time to do what, sir?" asked Staal. "The humans have launched their nuclear arms. It is done."

"It's not done!" the Doctor cried. "Let me try! Don't give up! Sontarans don't give up!"

Staal stared at the Doctor once again. The Doctor was panting with the exertion of screaming and exuding emotion. Martha's ears were ringing with the weight of his cries, but she didn't care.

And suddenly, without warning, Staal turned on his heel and stomped away. The Doctor called his name, continued screaming, but to no avail. He was out of sight, out of earshot, out of range to do anything about the situation, and none of the other officers, the Doctor knew, had any authority to make the decision to release them. The Doctor let out a great cry of rage and kicked his foot hard into the metal wall, causing several tinny panels to pull loose and fall to the floor. The clatter was satisfying for a moment, but only just.

He leaned his head back against Martha, still panting. "Martha," he breathed. "Are you all right?"

"Been better," she answered, on the edge of tears.

"I wish I could turn around..."

"Don't say it," she said, tears falling now. "I wish it too, but where will that get us?"

"I'm sorry," he told her, teeth gritted in agony. "I'm so, so sorry. I really thought we could help."

"I know you did," she whispered. "I know."

"And I really thought..." something cut him off.

She waited, but he didn't finish. "You really thought what?"

"I thought we could... you know, because you agreed to stay."

"I was beginning to think so too," she admitted. Over the past month of rebuilding their relationship, she had begun to dare to believe it, that she might have a future with the Doctor, that he could love her, that they could make a good, beautiful life together... "I'm sorry I didn't give us the chance."

"Oh, don't say that," he whispered. "It's okay."

"No, I mean at the Rigbys', when..."

"I know what you mean," he interrupted. "But we make the decisions we think are best for the moment, and we live with them. Sometimes die with them. There is nothing to be sorry for, no need to bring it back... I just mean, some things don't need saying again."

There was a long pause while Martha tried to cry without being heard. She was not successful, and her quiet, contained sobbing broke both the Doctor's hearts. And finally, she found the footing to say, "And some things do need saying again. _I love you_."

And he found that tears came easily now to him, as well. He would have sacrificed everything at that moment to be able just to turn his body one-hundred-eighty degrees. He had been tortured in the past, his shoulders broken on the rack, his body stretched the point of near-death. But his arms had never ached as they did today. The utterly _conspicuous_ pain of having them tied back at a time like this, at a time when all he wanted was to wrap them around his lovely and talented companion, his _girlfriend,_ as he now thought of her, it was too much. He couldn't even _see _her! His hands grasped for her, and hers for him, but all they could do was intertwine awkwardly, half-heartedly.

The Doctor's ears trained in on the countdown sequence embedded in the static frequency coming over the Sontarans' airwaves. They had one minute. He did not want his last moments in life to be spent hemming and hawing inside his own head, not reaching for what was his own. And moreover, he didn't want Martha's last moments in this life spent with those three words hanging always unrequited in the air. He did not want her final thoughts to be wonder, questioning him, and herself. Everyone needed certainty in life, even late in life, and if neither of them had ever had it before, they were going to have it now.

He took a deep breath and opened his mouth. "I..."

And then the twine snapped loose.

Both Martha and the Doctor's heads snapped sideways toward the action, their eyes bulging with urgency and surprise.

"All right, Doctor," Staal was saying, lowering the remote laser device that had cut their shackles. "You think you can bring honour to the Sontaran cause, so be it. You have forty-five seconds."

The Doctor sprang to his feet, and dashed for the communications console that the Sontaran known as Shutes had been using. He shoved the officer aside and reached in his breast pocket for the sonic.

"Doctor, do please tell us what exactly you're doing," Shutes said calmly.

"I'm rigging your teleport system," the Doctor shouted unnecessarily loudly. "Martha, bring me one of those teleportation field pods!"

Martha stumbled to her feet and ran for the TARDIS. She yanked one of the pods off the outer walls, one of the units which had gone _thunk_ on the side of the vessel just before the Sontarans had brought them aboard.

"What for?" Shutes asked.

"There's a binary code inside that I need," the Doctor told him, his lips moving so quickly, the words almost didn't completely form.

Martha put a disc in his hand, roughly the size of a hockey puck. He sonicked the front panel open and handed it back to her. "What are the first two oscillating numbers?" he asked her. She squinted at the tiny digital display – she could barely see. "Hurry!"

"Okay okay," she said, shaking. "Eight and two."

"Next?" he asked, sonic buzzing like a hummingbird in a honey factory.

"Erm... nine and one."

"And finally?"

"Five and six."

"Thank you, Martha Jones!" he cried out. "I could kiss you!"

She heard something click and change on the Sontaran console, and the Doctor sprung to another station. There, he acted very much the same way, except he didn't seem to need any help. He threw open a panel and the sonic sounded once again. To Martha, it was a happy sound, the sound of hope, the buzz of imminent freedom.

"Shutes! Aim at the warhead!" he cried out, pointing at the first control board. Shutes stepped calmly forward and stared into the screen. "It won't stop the detonation, but it will stop it from crashing into the ship."

"Nonsense," protested Staal. "Those teleportation field pods are not meant to hold an object in stasis. It will remain in flux, Doctor."

"Not anymore," the Doctor insisted with a maniacal raise of the eyebrows and a twist of his tongue. "Welcome to my world, General Staal, Officer Shutes." He twirled the sonic screwdriver round between his middle and index fingers.

Shutes threw a switch, then said, "I've never aimed at anything moving so quickly before! I don't know..."

Martha ran to a small window in the side of the ship to see what she could see. "Doctor! The warhead is right outside. It's just... sort of hovering!"

"Blimey! Ten second delay!" he yelled, turning back to the second control panel.

"You might want to hurry, Doctor," Shutes suggested, no urgency whatsoever betraying itself in his voice.

The Doctor himself adjusted a toggle, then pushed a flashing orange button. The warhead waivered in Martha's vision, turned silver, then vanished in a twist. She gasped slightly. "Where's it gone?"

"Fadsnell," the Doctor replied.

"One of the uninhabited planets?" she asked. He nodded.

Staal approached the comm panel as though it were a distressed child: with a pained expression and open arms. "What have you done with my equipment, you diabolical man?"

"Your teleportation pods can hold an item still now, not just vaguely track it while it careens toward you or drifts into space," the Doctor answered. "That was a daft system anyway. And your actual teleportation will allow you to branch out now. Whose idea was it to have teleports only in and out of this ship? That could have gotten you all killed, do you know that? Anyway, I sent the warhead to an uninhabited region of the universe, with nothing within striking distance. Call it my little gift."

"The Sontaran race is saved through wits," Shutes pointed out. "Very honourable."

"The wits of our enemy," Staal sulked.

"The wits of an enemy are wits nonetheless," Shutes told him.

"You are mistaken. Our enemy is..."

"Yeah, I'd love to stand here and exchange philosophies of insanity with you lot, but I've still got a planet to save. Staal, how did you get all those Atmos devices into cars on Earth?"

"It is foolish to share battle plans with the enemy, particularly a witty one."

The Doctor didn't feel like arguing honour anymore, or the fact that their interest in Earth _had _to be withdrawn. So, he turned to the right. "Shutes, will you tell me?"

Shutes looked at Staal with nervousness, but ultimately, he said, "A fellow called Luke Rattigan. He runs the Rattigan Academy – boy genius."

"Shutes, you insubordinate scum!" Staal cried out. "You are hereby demoted!"

"How'd you get him to do it?" the Doctor wanted to know.

"We promised him a new homeworld. Planetfall, we told him, the gullible boy," Shutes explained. Then he smiled. "He'd built an air calibrator and everything."

"But you didn't take him?" asked the Doctor.

Shutes laughed. "Goodness me, of course not," he said. "That would be utterly irrational."

"So the air calibrator is still on Earth?"

"It must be."

"Martha, time to go," the Doctor said, dashing toward the TARDIS. He stopped short at the door. "Staal, you _are_ going to get the hell out of here aren't you?"

There was no answer.

"Staal, promise me, or I can be on the horn to the Shadow Proclamation so fast, it would make your head spin," the Doctor threatened. "If you had a neck, that is."

"Your argument for thwarting the nuclear attack was sound and logical, and it suited our needs as Sontarans," answered Staal. "But we are not in the habit of catering to the wishes of our enemies. The cloning stratagem will proceed."

"In that case..." the Doctor said, grabbing Martha by the hand, and concealing both of them within the TARDIS. He ran to the console and began doing his pilot's shuffle round the controls, and before Martha knew it, the vessel had moved. She ran to look outside. They were now hovering above the Sontaran cruiser, and the white, choking Earth just beyond. Suddenly, the Sontaran ship was surrounded in a bubble of translucent blue.

"Whoa," Martha exclaimed. "What just happened?"

"The Shadow Proclamation," said the Doctor. "The Sontarans are under arrest."

"How did you call them so fast?"

"The TARDIS did it. Telepathy is quick, as is teleportation." He had the phone in his hand and was dialling. "Colonel Mace, please, it's the Doctor."

The Doctor waited.

"Mace! The Sontarans are no longer a threat. Do not detonate any more bombs, do you hear me? Yes, I'm serious, check your radar! Just trust me – check your radar! Yes, yes, you see?" The Doctor took a deep, relieved breath. "Now, just how clever is this Luke Rattigan? Good. Tell me how to get in touch with him."


	11. Messaline

MESSALINE

"Please please please please please," the Doctor muttered, teeth gritted. He and Martha were standing in the TARDIS' doorway, when suddenly, a section of the white gas ignited and the fire began to spread. Martha gasped. To her, it looked as though her planet were burning alive, swallowed up in flames. She held her breath and leaned in toward the Doctor. He put his arm around her tightly, and each said a silent prayer for the inferno to pass over the atmosphere and not harm any of the inhabitants of their cherished Earth.

And then, almost as quickly as the fire had begun, it was extinguished. The skies of Earth were crystal clear, and she could quite clearly see Great Britain below. She breathed a great sigh of relief, and said, "Rattigan came through. But thank God he had you to tell him what to do."

"Oh, I reckon he'd have worked it out eventually," the Doctor said, shutting the door. "Perhaps not in time to save everyone, but he's a clever kid. He's the one who built the device in the first place."

"You're not just being generous, are you?" she teased, pushing her shoulder playfully into his chest.

"Well," he sighed. "He was crying like a baby the whole time I spoke to him..."

"Oh, dear," Martha commented, her eyes suddenly having turned downward with concern.

"...so he probably would have been too emotionally stunted to be proactive. He had the know-how, just not the wherewithal, I guess you could say."

"Poor kid," she said. "Is he upset about the whole planetfall thing?"

"I didn't ask, but I'd say so. People like him, they're never happy with the world they live in. It's like the Earth isn't big enough. I've seen it a hundred times," he told her.

She looked at her shoes. "Do you think that's me?"

"Sometimes," he said, smirking at her. "But you've got more sense than to try and build _El Mundo de Martha_ on some other planet, and trust an alien race to take you there with fifty of your closest friends."

She smiled. "Instead, I trust _one_ alien to take me lots of places... and you _are_ my closest friend."

He smiled back. "And you, Martha Jones."

They hugged chastely, as they had a million times before. Martha wanted to tell him one more time how she loved him, but it wasn't the right moment. His near-confession in the hands of imminent death had not escaped her, and as much as she'd been longing to hear him say it, she didn't want him to be forced to do so, by her or anything else. She hadn't felt that it was pure – people say lots of things when they think they're about to die. So, to tell him now would be awkward, and anyway, it was a moment for friendship.

They walked together back to the console. "What do you think? Onwards?" he asked.

"Actually, yes, but first, would you mind if I visited my mum and dad? I just want to see if they're all right."

"Your wish is my command," he said, readying to bring Martha home to her family.

But the TARDIS, like many sentient beings, is essentially a slave to its feelings. It felt the pull of trouble in another when, another where, and the pang of a friend in need. The Doctor was the last of his kind, but somewhere out there, two hearts were beating in need of guidance.

As it jostled its two occupants out this time and place, one of them screamed out, "What? _What?_"

The other screamed, "Doctor, what are you doing?"

"No no, I didn't touch anything!" he answered, loudly. "We're in flight – it's not me!"

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"I don't know – it's out of control!"

"Doctor, just listen to me! You take me home – take me home right now! I need to see my family!"

"The controls aren't working," he told her, scrambling to keep on his feet. Temporarily, he did not succeed, and wound up sideways, staring at the hand-in-jar sitting on the floor. He noticed it bubbling, and the solution inside had changed colour. "I don't know where we're going, but my old hand's very excited about it!"

No sooner had he got upright again than something on the TARDIS console exploded, knocking the Doctor back into the navigator's seat and Martha to the hard metal floor. The movement stopped, and smoke hung in the air with a silent finality, as though the TARDIS were saying, _I have spoken. _The Doctor and Martha looked at each other, wide-eyed, and the Doctor dashed for the door. He climbed quickly into his trenchcoat, then looked outside.

They stepped into a dark cavern strewn with what looked like complete rubbish – chunks of metal, coiled-up wire, discared and torn cloth, along with the odd bit of wood. "Why did the TARDIS bring us here?" he asked, looking about.

In spite of herself, she sighed, "Oh, I love this bit."

"I thought you wanted to go home."

"I know, but all the same, it's that feeling you get..."

* * *

This particular trip had been exceedingly strange thus far, starting with the fact that within two minutes of stepping off the TARDIS in that dirty, junk-filled cave, some machine had given birth to what looked like a twenty-year-old blonde who called the Doctor "Dad." Diploid, haploid, some accelerated growth hormone... and two minutes after that, while the Doctor was busy making sure, unsuccessfully, as it turned out, that his _daughter_ didn't blow anyone up, Martha had been kidnapped by a humanoid fish monster. She was totally cut off from the Doctor, his offspring and a semi-hysterical band of human soldiers that had come out of nowhere.

More strangeness abounded when she discovered that the fish men were disturbingly fond of her, though she supposed it was better than the alternative. The TARDIS circuits were not translating their language for her for some reason, though they seemed to understand a rudimentary bit of what _she _said to them. She wondered if their pattern of gurgling was too foreign even to the TARDIS. Then, the holographic map of the complex they were looking at sprouted wings (or rather, revealed further wings of the complex), which would have been fine, except that they were convinced she'd done it. And when they all hopped-to and began readying their weapons, she became afraid she'd started a war.

The fish men were milling about, marching out, she assumed, to go to one of the newly-sprouted wings, when she heard his voice. The fish men didn't seem to notice. "Martha? Martha, can you hear me?" It was coming from the same device as had produced the map.

She ran towards it. "Doctor?"

"Martha, you're alive!"

"Doctor! Oh, am I glad to hear your voice! How are you doing this?"

"I've still got your mobile," he said. "And the humans and Hath have their computer systems networked. I hacked into the audio feed."

_The Hath. So that's what they're called._

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"I'm locked up, but I'm fine. And... and... I'm with the... the woman from the machine, the solider. My daughter. Except she isn't, she's... she's... anyway, where are you?"

"I'm in the Hath camp. I'm okay, but something's going on. The Hath are all marching off to some place that appeared on this map thing."

"Ohhh," he groaned. "That was me. If both armies are heading that way, there's gonna be a bloodbath."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Stay where you are," he told her. "If you're safe there, don't move, do you hear?"

"But I can help!" she insisted, just before the line went dead. "Doctor? Doctor?"

By then, all but a few of what she now knew were "the Hath" had marched out. One of them, whose shoulder she had re-set earlier, stayed behind and came near the map to check on her. She felt that he was returning the favour – she had taken care of him, and now he wasn't going to leave her behind.

"I was talking to my friend," she said. "I need to find him, do you understand?"

He nodded, then pushed a button. In doing so, a 3-D rendering of the map was revealed, and some type of vertical silo appeared. She understood then that that's where everyone was headed. The day had been full of surprises already, and they hadn't got anywhere by letting history run its course, so she decided to be proactive and try to get there to meet the Doctor. They had lost contact – how else was he supposed to know where to find her?

She saw that the complex's tunnels, through which the humans and Hath travelled, were laid out in a zigzag formation. This told her that going over the surface of the planet would get her there faster, the shortest distance between two points being a straight line. Her Hath friend showed her the elemental readouts for the surface of the planet, the atmosphere, the soil, the bodies of water. The Nitrogen-Oxygen ratio was doable, if not ideal, and there was plenty of Ozone. The radiation spikes on the graph alarmed her a bit, but as long as she didn't stay out too long...

"I have to find my friends," she told the Hath, in response to what sounded to her like a protest. As she turned to leave, he protested again, and something in his eyes looked like worry. She was touched by this, and realised that she'd have felt the same about some hapless outlander venturing out into _her _strange world. She smiled, and said, "Come on, then."

Martha Jones and a new friend then embarked on an all-too-short adventure over the surface of an unknown planet. She knew much too well how quickly danger could turn two disparate beings into kindred spirits...

* * *

And he proved her point; he gave his life to save her. He must have known that she would never be able to pull him out of the prickly liquid into which she had carelessly fallen, but he jumped in anyway, just to give her a leg-up, just to give her a chance. He hadn't even hesitated. She was reaching out to him while she watched in horror as he sank beneath the surface, and he said something as he slipped down, just before his head was immersed, but she had not understood. Pain overtook her for a few moments, and she writhed on the bank of that pond with grief so large, that all she could do was give a few horrible, dry heaves of frustrated sadness. She had been cut off from everything she knew, and now her only friend in this strange sequence was gone. She had never felt so alone in her life, nor so cold.

Two hours, if that, they had known each other, and he had felt attachment enough to her to save her life at any cost. She had not realised until just now how _sentient_ the Hath were, just how emotive and important.

At the back of her mind, nearly completely drowned by thoughts of her fish friend, she wondered at the composition of that pond. The body of liquid lay in a crater lined with black rock, which was slick and smooth, and that was how she had fallen in. When she'd been up to her neck in it, she was certain that there was nothing living in the depths, but something tugged at her, hardened around her and caused her skin to burn. Her panic had been, in part, due to the sinking feeling, the fear of drowning, but also due to the totally unpleasant sensation that the liquid itself gave her. Even now, her flesh was buzzing and she could hear parts of her hair sizzling round her ears.

But she pressed on, and in an hour, there it was. Like a dark tower in the distance, against a purple sky, the tall, silo-like structure she and her Hath friend had set out to find. She leaned against a rock all alone, and at last, allowed herself a good cry. She'd been trying, with varying degrees of success, to hold back because the tears were clouding her vision. She _had_ to find that silo because she _had_ to find the Doctor. The full onslaught of her grief could wait. But now, she had direction, and she'd have to be blind to miss it. As she stumbled across the very last stretch of barren land, she sobbed for her new old friend, at the achingly fresh memory of watching a good soul perish so that she could live.

_I should have gone underground_, she thought. _The Doctor would have waited for me, why did I insist on coming over the surface? There is enough killing on this planet, why did I add to the casualties? Why couldn't I have...? Because of me, he..._

And as she neared the tower, she saw that there was a door. A hand-print plate to the left, clearly made for a human, glowed green. She pressed her frosty cold hand against it, and the door slid open like that of a lift. Still crying, she stumbled inside.

She leaned against a railing for a bit, catching her breath. _Focus, Martha. Be smart, find the Doctor_. She pulled her emotions into check and wiped her tears away. She stood straight for a few moments concentrating on pulling her spine up like a string, as she'd been taught in childhood ballet classes. She breathed deeply, silently willed her increasingly restless skin to be still, and thought rationally of her next move.

_Down. When the Doctor arrives, he'll come in from the bottom, from underground._

After two flights of stairs, she heard the metallic clang of people running. She peeked around the corner, and there he was, with his daughter in tow.

"Doctor!"

"Martha!"

He pulled her off her feet, and they hugged as though they hadn't seen each other in months. The pressure of his arms caused her skin to burn round her middle where he touched her, but she ignored it, and revelled in the sensation of being close to him again. "Oh, I should've known you wouldn't stay away from all the excitement!" he said, squeezing her hard. When he let go, the burn remained, and this fact was not lost on her. Then he asked, "What happened?"

"I erm..." she choked, holding back tears. "I took the surface route." She wanted very badly to explain it all, to tell him about the Hath, about how one of them had saved her life and died in the process, but, frankly, she wasn't quite ready. The moment was too fragile, they weren't completely alone, and there was still a war to thwart.

The Doctor's pretty daughter smiled at her kindly. The warmth of the Doctor himself lay behind that smile, and there was no malice there, nor jealousy nor anything but relief and a happy radiance. She had been wondering, since their separation, what the two of them had been going through, considering the Doctor's initial less-than-ecstatic reaction to fatherhood. Instantly then, she knew it had been a journey of sorts, a metamorphosis for the both of them. Someone somewhere had switched sides, which she imagined was a good thing. But that smile, that two-second act of friendliness, made her very uncomfortable for reasons with which she would never quite come to terms. She would never have the chance.

For compounded upon Martha's private sadness, the Doctor's daughter was killed that day. The first being in centuries to share the Doctor's DNA was shot in the heart with a pistol by her own commanding officer. The moment became a metaphor for the Doctor's life. He lost his only family – he watched as she took her last breath, literally, in his arms. And then in his grief, he was quite frightening for a few minutes while everyone thought he might murder her killer. Ultimately, his anger manifested as a philosophy, helping two warring factions to see a greater truth and come together as a society.

It was what the Doctor did best. He channelled his tragedies into fighting for a larger purpose and benefitting the greater good...

But that didn't make it okay.

His daughter was dead, and Martha had no idea what to say to him.

Back on the TARDIS, he leaned catatonically against one of the tree-like columns, and stared at nothing. She thought about commiserating, telling him the story that had brought her from setting the shoulder of a Hath to mourning his heroic death, but she knew that no loss she could suffer, save for that of the Doctor himself, could equal the one he had suffered today.

"Doctor," she whispered after a long time. "I don't understand."

"She was the reason for the TARDIS bringing us here," he told her, finally, _finally_ moving to sit down upon the navigator's chair. "Just got here too soon, which then created her in the first place. Paradox. An endless paradox."

She gave a great sigh, and he looked at her with sad eyes. She moved, just barely. It would have been a step toward him, but the progress she actually made was nearly imperceptible. Nearly, but not totally, especially to a man whose senses were extra-acute, and his sentitivity tested to the highest degree. She wanted to touch him, comfort him, tell him she was there, that it would be all right, but with four words, he undercut her intentions, and in some ways, everything she thought she could be to him.

Spoken with businesslike clarity, he said, "Time to go home."

She nearly collapsed in tears then, but she managed to remain stoic as she said, "Yeah, home."

His communion with the TARDIS' controls left no room for her, neither round his body nor in his mind. She tried to shake off the resentment – toward the Doctor, his daughter, his past, his burdens as the last of the Time Lords, all of it – because love means putting another's grief before your own petty insecurities. But as the vessel moved them back into Martha's home and century, the fear would not allow her to forget. The events on the planet Messaline had driven a wedge between her and the man she loved, and it was all she could do to remain calm as he took her home.

She knew him better than she had ever known anyone, and yet she hardly knew him at all. Her knowledge of him barely skimmed the surface of who he was, and she knew that even if she stayed with him until she was a hundred years old, she would never delve even halfway into his depths.

Nevertheless, she did know him, and she knew that he was a man who cherished his secrets and guarded his deepest feelings. Even if he felt close, even if he _loved _someone, he tended to push people away when the pain got too near, with one possible expception. The loss of a child was the blow of all blows, and the Doctor had endured it _again. _As Martha walked the fifty paces from the TARDIS to her parents' front door, she set her jaw with Olympian restraint to keep from sobbing in the street, as she was sure she would never see the Doctor again.


	12. A Midnight Call

A MIDNIGHT CALL

After Martha left to go see her family, the Doctor began to feel a bit guilty. It hadn't been her fault – none of it. As these things went, hardly anything was Martha's fault, and as always, she had wanted to make things better. But he wouldn't let her, and that was bound to make her feel rejected, especially in light of their new arrangement, their developing relationship. He did think of them as a couple now, and he sorely regretted letting her walk out of there thinking he wasn't comforted by her. It was déjà vu – he had been parked, not so long ago, in this very spot across the street from the Jones house, kicking himself for not giving Martha her due.

He resolved to give her as much time as she needed with her family, to be at her beck and call, and to apologise as soon as he got the chance. And then he did something he seldom did: he took a nap.

* * *

It had been some time since he and Martha had discussed dreams. She had had some mightily Freudian nighttime images in the weeks following their entanglement; giant cucumbers, jostling boats, spitting into the water.

But then, he had come on so strong in the Rigbys' living room, that they had been forced to take a few giant paces backward and start again. His begging her to pledge her life to him in that moment had revealed a gaping rip in his emotional fabric, and to make love then would have been like an enslaving, addictive drug for both of them. But even though he _knew_ this, and wholeheartedly agreed with her decision, to have got that close to a woman, to have wanted her so badly and to have been _so sure _that he'd have her, and then to have been deflated all at once… he felt ham-handed as a man and his ego was pretty well bruised.

Their closeness had guaranteed a lustful pining, and his dreams in the last thirty-eight days had plagued him like an itch. He saw her standing in that cornfield waiting to be kissed, and sitting on the Rigbys' sofa just before he joined her. He saw her shutting the bedroom door and waking in the morning with a sleepy, satisfied smile. He felt her mouth on his neck, and her skin on his lips. He saw her over and over and over again in that black dress; walking in the sand, emerging from the sea, mingling on the _Titanic_, and on one disastrous evening he saw her with Astrid…

And it would invariably end with the black dress on the floor.

When he'd gone for a nap, he was well aware of the escapism of it. His sadness over the death of his daughter was overwhelming, and in slumber, he hoped to shed a bit of that despair and wake with a new perspective. He had hoped to work through the misery, to see the daughter he nearly never knew, she who hadn't even lived long enough to have been given a name, and to move himself through her. He wanted her to come to his dreams and tell him it was all right, that she would have liked to travel with him and Martha, but that it wasn't meant to be, that life had a way, and that in the end, fate wins over, and there's no blame, and no regret… that it was time to say goodbye. He hoped she'd give him closure and that his last image of her could be of her smile, rather than her lifeless body lying on a slab.

But he did not dream of his daughter. Old memories of fatherhood had awakened something in him long dormant. Later, as he thought about it, he supposed an instict of sorts had come back to him. Martha had been bringing it about on her own over the past few weeks, but having a family, if just for a day, had invigourated him in a wholly unexpected way…

…so that when he woke from his nap, he was in a cold sweat. The clock nearby told him that it was just after midnight, local time. Once he brought his mind round to where "local" was and how he'd got there, his mind wandered back to the dream he'd wound up having. If the room had not been darkened, the walls would have seen him blush, and they would have seen his trousers fitting a bit differently than usual.

His own name was running through his mind, a whisper, the desperate, ecstatic hiss she had given in his dream. His body still hummed and throbbed, and the echo in his brain just got louder.

"Calm down," he scolded himself aloud, hoping to cut across the thrumming of Martha's voice inside his head. Running his hands tiredly through his hair, he muttered, "Blimey, at age nine-hundred, you should be more in control of these things."

He forced himself to get up and turn on the light. He rubbed his eyes vigourously, then placed his hands against the wall, willing his body into check. He shut his eyes tight, trying to remember a zen mantra which would put all things back in their proper place, and restore harmony to his overexcited physical and mental state. He recited it, and refused to open his eyes until he was sure to see all things back to their proper size and shape. No unsightly bulges below the waist, no undignified heaving above.

He was a patient man, and when he did open his eyes, it was several minutes later. He looked down and noticed something troubling indeed.

Parts of his blue suit coat were torn. He was certain that this hadn't been the case when he'd lain down all those hours ago. What had happened? He shed the the coat and took stock. The fabric wasn't just torn, parts of it had dissolved, burned away. And the pattern was odd, as well. The dissolution was happening in patches down the front of the jacket, and up round the neck. The upper section started roughly where his collarbone was, and went back around the collar. The back and sides of the jacket were fine – what the hell would cause the fabric to burn away in _that_ pattern?

He took his glasses and the sonic from the breast pocket and examined the stitching through the darts in the front and the attached collar in back. It was just as shoddy as throughout the rest of the garment, so why there? He examined the weave of the fabric, which, as far as he could tell, was uniform throughout. So it must have been something external with which he'd had contact only in those areas. He thought back, tried to imagine, re-create in his mind how something like that would feel…

_Oh God_, he thought.

"Martha!" he said aloud, running for the console room. He looked outside at the Jones house, and noticed one of the upstairs windows dimly lit and fogged over. "Shit!" he spat as he shut the TARDIS door and ran for the house.

* * *

After a hug from mum and dad, a home-cooked (or what passed for such) meal and some good down time, Martha realised she'd been completely overreacting. Yes, the Doctor was experiencing grief, but how could she have thought that he'd leave her there without saying goodbye?

It was only seven o'clock, and her parents wanted to play Mah-Jongg with her, and she promised she would, after she slept for a bit. She went up to her old bedroom and looked outside. The TARDIS was still sitting there across the street, and she smiled to herself and breathed a little sigh. She lay down in her clothes, meaning only to sleep for an hour. As she did so, the pressure of the bed caused her tender skin to burn with soreness, and a not-so-gentle tingling set in. She thought she should have taken off her clothes before lying down, but now, she was too tired. And anyway, she'd be up again in an hour…

But her parents just let her sleep. An hour passed, then two, then three. Eventually, her mum just covered her up and took herself to bed. At that time, nothing had seemed out of the ordinary.

But when Martha awoke, she woke the whole house.

* * *

He'd dropped the sonic on the bed when he'd run out of there, and he cursed again as he reached the Jones' door. He didn't have time to fuss with the lock or ring the bell, so he took a running start and kicked it, and after three tries, succeeding in kicking it open.

"Martha!" he shouted, coming through the door.

He could hear Martha screaming upstairs, and just barely, he heard the shower running. He took the steep steps two at a time, and as he got higher up, he could hear more and more noise. Martha's screaming, her mum's sobbing, her dad's pleading, "What's wrong, sweetheart? Tell me what to do, just tell me!"

He followed the sounds and found Mr. and Mrs. Jones standing in their pyjamas in the doorway of a bathroom. Steam poured out of the room into the hallway.

"Martha!" he called again.

Mrs. Jones turned with a start. "Doctor! What are you…?"

"Out of the way, please," the Doctor demanded as he shoved the parents aside and went for the shower. He opened the door and Martha stood inside, soaking wet, still in her clothes and shoes, screaming, crying. When she saw him, she reached out for him and uttered a word that might have been his name, but she was basically inarticulate. Without hesitation, he picked her up, pushed past her parents and made to leave the house.

"Where are you taking her, Doctor?" Mr. Jones wanted to know.

"The TARDIS has a decontamination shower, I have to get her out of here," he called back at them, running down the stairs with Martha still screaming and crying in his ear. He tracked water through the entire house, but no-one seemed to care. "Ordinary water won't do it."

"What's happened to her?" Mrs. Jones called from the top of the stairs, having calmed a bit. He supposed that his intervention had taken some of the mystery out, taken some of the onus off them to have to solve a problem whose nature was totally alien to them.

"No time," the Doctor insisted, and he ran outside and made a dash for the TARDIS. "Don't follow me, it will only make things worse!"


	13. Healing

HEALING

"Shhhh," he told her as he walked down the stairs in front of the Jones residence. "It's okay, sweetheart. It's all okay, you're going to be fine."

The sleeve of the jacket she was wearing fell to pieces in his hand and he tore it away, throwing it aside. He could feel the back of the jacket pulling away from her body against his arm, and part of her trouser leg had already dissolved. He thought that she was very, very lucky she'd been wearing leather, multiple layers, and that she was dark-skinned.

"Doctor," she sobbed into his shoulder. "It hurts!"

"I know, Martha, I'm going to fix it, I promise," he assured her.

"I hate it!" she moaned. "I hate it!"

He continued to try to lull her with soothing tones and reassuring words as he carried her across the road. He only wished he fully believed what he was saying. From the sounds and looks of things, the situation was fairly dire, and she could very well _not _be fine. It wasn't very likely that she would die, but right now, the Doctor suspected she was wishing she could.

She had stopped screaming as they were leaving her family's home, and he wondered if the cool, fresh air was doing her good. But she was still crying hard as they crossed the garden and the road, any words she expressed were riddled with fear and pain, and there was no time to waste frolicking in the London fog.

He kicked open the door of the TARDIS, stepped through sideways so that Martha wouldn't hit her head, and then kicked it shut. He asked the vessel to lock it behind him so that they wouldn't be disturbed. The last thing he needed was more Joneses coming a-knocking at a time like this.

He took her down several seldom-used hallways and stopped in a wide room with burgundy tile on the walls and black obsidian floors which sloped toward a drain in the centre. Ahead, there was a glass-encased booth, seven or eight feet wide, and on either side, a shower head. Near the glass door, there was a sterile metal table with a soft, fibreglass mat, and the Doctor gently set Martha down there.

"No, don't leave me," she begged, reaching out.

"I'm not leaving, I'm just going to turn on the water. I'll be right here," he told her. He leaned into the shower stall and turned a knob. Both fawcets sprayed hot water, and the room filled with an antiseptic scent, laced with a touch of mint and lavender. In two seconds he was back at her side, and he said, "See?"

She lay back on the mat, and moaned. "Please make it stop, Doctor. Please!"

"I will," he said. "But you have to sit up for me, okay?" He took her by the hand, and put his other hand under her neck and pulled gently until she was sitting again.

By now, one of the seams of her jacket's shoulders had pulled apart, and the collar was completely gone. He tried to work the buttons in front, but they turned to mush in his hands. He gingerly pulled the front of the jacket open, and took one of Martha's hands to help her out of it.

"Ow," she winced. "What…"

"Your clothes are contaminated," he told her. "We should have got you out of them right away, but I didn't know then…"

He had a fairly good idea what had caused this calamity, he just wasn't sure how or why it had happened. Martha had been a bit mum after coming over the surface of Messaline, and he now suspected that something tragic had occurred.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"No need to be," he whispered back as her grey leather jacket turned to shreds of thread and eaten flesh in his hands. He threw it into a yellow bin nearby.

Underneath her jacket, she'd been wearing a black tank top, which was now in complete tatters, as was her bra. She whimpered, and he blew on her skin to help soothe the burning. He let his cooling breath fall across her shoulders and arms, distracting her a bit as he peeled the tank top slowly away. She closed her eyes and sighed, but as the fabric separated from her skin, she winced. He tugged at her bra strap, and as expected, it pulled away from the rest of the garment, which then fell away easily. All of the torn clothes went into the yellow bin, and Martha was nude from the waist-up. He continued to blow on her skin as each patch became exposed to the air, and she swooned as he did so.

"That feels good," she sighed. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," he said back to her. He wanted to lean forward and kiss her forehead, her eyes, her ears, her hair… he wanted to touch her all over and let his caress comfort her, but such a thing would have caused more harm than good, for the both of them.

He knelt and removed her shoes. She had been wearing black leather boots, which, like her jacket, were coming apart. Her socks, if she had been wearing any, were completely gone by now, and he blew on her feet to cool them.

"Martha, can you stand up?" he whispered.

She nodded slightly. She opened her eyes and gazed at him with worry, but with trust. Her look seemed to say, "This is going to hurt." Very slowly, she slid forward on the mat, and winced as she pushed herself to a standing position. The Doctor resumed blowing cool air on her body as he tugged at what was left of her trousers. The black polyester fell away almost like dust, and he couldn't imagine how they hadn't done so before.

"Come on," he said to her softly, taking her hands. "Just walk forward."

"I don't want to go in the water."

"Martha, you have to, it's the only way to make it stop."

"No," she whined. "Can't you just…"

He smiled. "What? Wave my magic wand?"

She whimpered. "Okay."

"Okay," he echoed, walking backwards, pulling her gently. "Are you steady?"

"Not so much," she said. "Don't let go."

He felt the warm water on his back before she did. He walked into the decontamination shower in his dress shirt, suit trousers and trainers, and crossed the streams of water, pulling Martha under the warmth as well.

With one free hand, he reached into an overhead wire-mesh shelf and extracted a special soap which came in a tube. "You need to wash with this," he said. "You've got serious radiation poisoning. The chemicals in the shower will wash away the residue, but this will help heal your skin." She reached out and took it from him, then let go of him completely. She tried opening the container, but without him to hang onto, she began to fall.

"I can't," she whimpered.

He sighed. He knew that she _could_, she was just afraid. "Okay," he said. "I'll do it… just… give me a minute." He took her hands and placed them against the wall in front of her.

"I will be right back, Martha," he promised. "Try not to fall. Are you all right?"

"It hurts," she said.

"I know. It will get better. That's why we're here."

He left the shower and began to shed his own clothes. He put everything in the yellow bin, figuring that everything they were both wearing must be contaminated. He turned back and looked. Martha was still standing with her hands against the wall, crying softly, leaning forward to let the water fall over her head. He could just barely see her dark form through the steam, her brown, curvy body turned away from him, blurry and perfect.

Once again, he found himself forcing his body into check. He was completely nude – if he didn't get a handle on his desires, it would become all-to-obvious in short order, not that he figured Martha would notice in this state. But still. There was a time and a place, and this wasn't it.

With a deep breath and a zen prayer, he walked toward the shower, opened the glass door and stepped in.

He took the tube of soap from its shelf once more and spread some on his hands.

"Martha," he said. "I'm going to touch you, okay? Are you ready?"

She didn't answer, only nodded slightly.

He started with his fingertips at her shoulder blades, and she responded with a sharp intake of air. As his fingers moved sideways toward her arms, he noticed the beginning of blistering. "You okay?" he asked.

"Mm," she answered. "It just burns."

He moved up onto her shoulders and the back of her neck. She tensed, shrugging tightly, making it more difficult for him to work. "Relax," he whispered, pushing gently on the muscles. She tried to obey, but the blistering was spreading, making his touch a little bit hard to endure.

He moved down her arms, and took a half-step forward to be closer to her. He reached down and his hands glided over her elbows, forearms, wrists, and then hands. She grasped them with her own and pulled his arms round front until they were resting on her stomach. She leaned back into him, and let her head fall back against his chest. He crumbled slightly, hardening in spite of himself and this horrible turn of events, and he knew she must have felt it. But she didn't react.

"Martha," he said. "We need to finish this, or you're going to blister very badly."

"Okay," she sighed, and she reluctantly turned to face him. Her eyes still betrayed fear, but within that, he could see she felt better.

He put a bit more of the soap on one hand, and was obliged to reach around Martha to spread it on the other. He put his hands on her lower back, and her eyes snapped shut. He whispered a soft, quick "sorry," and began to move his hands in circles along her back. He watched her face, the muscles changing every few seconds. At last, her eyes seemed to lose their tension, and the corners of her mouth actually turned upward momentarily. She sighed and leaned forward, once again pressing into him. This time, it was his turn to gasp slightly, and his body reacted in kind. Martha felt the change, and looked up at him.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"It's okay," she said. "I'm just glad you're here."

He put the soap aside and just held her. Parts of him were screaming for him to stop, but he didn't really listen.

* * *

Later, he ushered her into an air chamber so that she could dry off without using a towel on her sensitive skin. While she was inside, he fetched one of his own silk pyjama tops for her, and brewed a cup of tea. They were waiting for her when she emerged, and he was sitting nearby, in the matching pyjama bottoms and a white tee-shirt, examining the contents of the yellow bin. The clothing had all but turned to soup at this point, and it was yielding practically no information.

Martha put on the pyjamas, took a sip of the tea, and said, "Thanks for this." She winced as she sat down beside him.

"Yeah, you should know there's a sleeping draught in that tea," he warned.

She looked into the cup with wonder. "Great," she said, taking another mouthful.

"Look at this," he said, showing her the remains of his blue trousers at the end of a pair of tongs. They were the consistency of soft tofu, and they were crumbling just as fast. He looked at her meaningfully. "That's what could have happened to your skin."

She didn't say anything, she just stared into her cup.

"Can we talk about it tomorrow?" he asked her. "I reckon you'll be getting mighty sleepy soon."

She nodded.

"Okay, come to bed," he said. He stood up and offered his hand. She took it, and he led her out of the decontamination room, down the wrong hall.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To my room," he said. "I'm going to keep an eye on that blistering."

"Okay," she agreed. "So what, I just wait for it to go away now?"

"No," he said. "You need to get plenty of rest – bedrest, Martha. And you'll have to decontaminate every day for, oh, fifteen, sixteen days. Maybe longer, maybe even more than once a day at first."

"Oh, you mean in _that _shower with _that _soap…"

"Yeah, exactly."

"Okay," she agreed again.

They reached the large bedroom where there was still a playpen set up from when Rory the little Adipose creature had come to stay. She smiled at it, and lay down on one side of the bed. He covered her, and as he did so, she asked, "How did you know, Doctor?"

"You mean that I needed to kick open the door to your parents' house like a maniac and run upstairs and rescue you?"

She smiled, a little sorry she'd missed that. "Yeah."

"My suit was crumbling, but only in the front and around the neck," he explained. "It was the parts you touched when you hugged me after coming over the surface of Messaline."

Her eyebrows raised in sleepy wonder. "Wow. You work fast."

"That's my job. Get some rest. When you wake up, we'll fire up the decontamination shower again."

"Okay. What are you going to do now?"

"I'm going to go talk to your parents."


	14. Going to France

**Oh, man. Sorry this took so long! It went through three drafts, I just wasn't sure where I wanted it to go. Once I figured that out, I wondered how I would get it there and where and how I should stop. This writing business is HARRRRRD!!!!**

**Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. :-)**

* * *

GOING TO FRANCE

"_We are King of the World," the Doctor said, slipping an arm around her waist. She stood on the bow of a large ship looking out. She couldn't wait to see the Eiffel Tower come up over the horizon._

"_Me, maybe," she laughed. "Isn't it enough for you to be a Time Lord?"_

_He didn't seem to hear her. "I do like this dress," he commented, fingering the soft black fabric. He ran his hands over the smooth skin of her shoulders and kissed the little indentation between her clavicle and her neck._

"_How long before we get to France?" she wanted to know._

"_Whenever you want," he said. "I love France – you're the one who said you wanted to go to America first."_

"_Well, America was good," she said. "But France…" she sighed._

_He smiled. _"Oui, ma chérie. La France, je l'adore, et je t'adore aussi. Et la voilà!" _He pointed out to the horizon ahead of the ship and she could see the Tower coming up on the other side of the sea._

"_Oh, it's beautiful," she sighed. "It's better than I could have imagined. Can I touch it?"_

"_Maybe if you lean over."_

_She stepped up onto the railing and leaned over, trying to touch the Eiffel Tower. "Almost there," she croaked._

"_Martha, are you sure?" he asked, reaching for her arm with concern. "You might fall in."_

"_That's okay," she insisted. "Doctor help me!"_

"_Okay, okay," he said. He got up on the railing behind her and reached out. His arms were longer and his fingertips went further. "Oh, you're right, this is good…"_

_And then they both lost their footing and fell. They found themselves immersed in warm water, and both began groping in the deep blue, and their hands found each other. They swam together to the surface… they could see the sun, it was just a matter of getting there…_

_

* * *

_

She was awake before she opened her eyes. The dream was fading away. All she remembered was a boat, water and a tower… ugh, again with the Freudian.

When she did creak her eyes open, she found that she was lying on her stomach facing the bedroom door. She'd been drooling. She wiped her mouth and forced her head up off the pillow. The Doctor had said he was going to talk to her parents – she wished him luck. Her mum and dad must have been mightily afraid…

"Hi," he said, startling her.

She jerked her head round to face him, straining her neck in the process. He was sitting on the bed in a brown suit and glasses, leaning on the headboard, reading.

"I thought you were going to speak to my parents," she said, giving up and flopping back down on the pillow.

"I did," he said, smirking. "Seven hours ago."

"Whoa," she sighed, yawning. "So it's like seven in the morning?"

"Closer to eight," he corrected. "Fancy a waffle?"

"Mm, no thanks," she said, stretching like a cat.

"Good, I don't actually know how to make them," he muttered, setting his book aside. He scooted forward and turned to the side, lying down to face her. "How do you feel?"

She seemed to contemplate. She shifted a little to see how her skin felt. "Touchy. Sore."

"Can I see?"

"Sure," she said, throwing the covers off her shoulders and torso. She unbuttoned the pyjama top she was wearing and pulled the fabric back so that the Doctor could examine her shoulder.

He shifted closer so he could see. He reached out and very gently touched the raw skin, still burned pink and blistered.

"Well, it looks like it should, in the circumstances," he sighed. "Are you ready to get up and decontaminate?"

"Okay," she said, turning over, beginning to pull herself out of the bed.

"But first," he said, grabbing the blanket, but not her. "How did this happen?"

She looked at him without understanding, and then it dawned on her – she had almost forgotten. She lay back down on her back, wincing as she did, but her eyes focused on the ceiling above. She sighed heavily, and her eyelids slid shut. A tear or two leaked out as she thought about her Hath friend's sacrifice.

"I'm sorry, Martha," the Doctor murmured, wiping a tear away.

"It's okay," she said, trying to smile. "It's silly, really."

"Why is it silly?"

"Because I didn't even know him," she told the Doctor, not looking at him. "He was one of the Hath, and he was injured in the explosion, the one that… anyway, I reset his shoulder, and he sort of looked after me. For some reason the Hath, they liked me…"

"What do you mean _for some reason_?" he asked with a smirk.

"Well, I'm not exactly a poster girl for their species, am I?" she quipped. "I probably look like a squid to them. Anyway, when I decided to come over the surface, he got all worried, so I said he should come with me."

"And then you slipped down into a Zapiola pool."

"If you mean something that feels tingly and pulls you in like quicksand, then yes."

"It starts out tingly like when your leg goes to sleep, and gets steadily worse. Lucky you didn't inhale any."

"Fortunately my head didn't go under, but it very nearly did…" she choked.

"He saved you, the Hath?"

She nodded, and tears fell again. "God, this is stupid," she scolded herself.

"No, no," he said gently. He stroked her forehead. "You shared a harrowing experience. That will bring two people – or close enough – together every time. He had been your patient, in a way you feel responsible because if you hadn't reset his shoulder, he might not have felt responsible to come with you…"

"Yeah," she whispered. "And I just watched him go under. I couldn't do anything from the embankment."

"It's okay," he said, still stroking. "I'm sad about this too, Martha. We made a better day there for the humans and Hath, and he missed it. He died before he could see it happen… so did my daughter. It's part of the nature of war."

"Well, it's rubbish," she spat.

"No argument here."

She rolled over to her left and he put his arms around her. He knew it was hurting her, so he tried to be gentle. For her part, she didn't care about the pain. She lay in his arms for quite a while, not crying, just taking comfort. Having told the Doctor the truth had purged her, surprisingly. She needed to remember this moment.

"Martha?" he muttered, pressing his lips against her head.

"Mm?"

"You need to get back into that shower soon."

She sighed. "Okay."

He gently extracted himself from being tangled around her. She rolled the other way to the side of the bed as he made his way round. She pulled herself to a sitting position as he arrived in front of her, and he took her hands and helped her up. They held hands as they walked down the hall back toward the decontamination room. The Doctor wasn't sure why he was going with her, it just felt like the thing to do. He supposed he just wasn't satisfied that she was ready to be left alone yet.

As they reached the door, Martha asked, "So, what did you tell my parents?"

They stepped inside the room. "That your skin had been contaminated in a Zapiola pool, that it takes about twelve hours to set in completely cause the victim to scream in pain, that it could be cured in a few days by using a particular type of decontamination shower, and that I would be happy to see to your recovery and there was no reason for them to feel that they should help." He popped the final _p_, and nudged the door closed with his elbow.

She scrunched up her face and put a hand on her hip. "Ugh, you told them the truth?"

"Course I did. Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, couldn't you have… I don't know… told them it was just a really bad sunburn or something? Now she's going to be knocking on the door…"

"Martha, we're hovering the Crawlawn Galaxy."

"She'll ring!"

"She's your mum!"

"So? She's a meddler!"

"Martha, if _my_ daughter…" he stopped himself. He paused as he choked on his words, then gathered his thoughts. "You woke up in the middle of the night screaming and you threw yourself into the shower with your clothes on. And then I rushed you out of there like a maniac, they're bound to know it's something a bit more serious than a sunburn."

"All right, then." She turned her back and began to unbutton the pyjama top she was wearing. "What did they say?"

"Lots of things," he said, leaning coolly against the wall. "Mostly, they just wanted to see you."

"And you wouldn't let them," she assumed, shrugging the garment off her shoulders.

The Doctor saw the fabric hit the floor and heard nothing she said. It had seemed to slide down her arms like liquid make almost a splash as it landed. Images flooded his brain, some of them dreams, some of them too delicious not to be real…

"Doctor?"

Her voice sounded distant.

"Doctor!"

"Mm? Oh, yes? What?"

She smiled. "I said, you wouldn't let them," she said. "See me, I mean."

"Erm, no," he said, swallowing hard. "Martha, aren't you in some pain?

She looked down at her naked, blistering body. "Yes," she sighed. She moved toward the shower. "It's a slow burn. I feel like osso bucco." She turned on the water.

"No wait, you have to get the right balance." He reached past her and adjusted the taps. "There you go."

"Thanks," she smiled. She looked him up and down. "Why are you still in that suit?"

"Erm," he scratched nervously behind his ear. "Why… what?"

"Well, are you going to join me, or not?" There was no hint of impatience in her voice.

"Oh," he said, eyebrows shooting to the ceiling. "Yes, I'd like that."

"Good. I'll be in there," she told him, pointing to the dual streams of soothing chemicals.

He undressed, starting with his shoes.

* * *

Sixteen days, twenty-four decontamination showers, depending on how she felt. The first week, the burn seemed occasionally to make her ill with pain, even though she would wake in a fine mood. Those days, the Doctor had to force her to get up and cleanse a second time.

But after that, it became a once-per-day routine, and each day, the burning lessened and the blistering subsided.

And for the vast majority of those twenty-four showers, she was not alone there. Each time, she would step into the shower first, and he would join her a minute or two later. Then, he would use the medicinal soap to treat her skin, covering her entire body even where the blisters and discolourations had already healed. Sometimes she would cry, sometimes not. Sometimes, she was so raw that he couldn't hold her, and those were the hardest times of all. Most times, he would kiss her lips, her hair, her eyes, her neck, and she would kiss back, and thank him for all he did for her. Most times, their hands would wander further and grow more bold, until there was no territory on either one of them left unexplored. He would stroke her breasts, let his hands wander over her bum, even skim his fingers occasionlly between her legs. He loved listening to the little sigh that she gave him each time he did this, and the wicked look in her eye that he would see when she opened them. She memorised the feel of his chest and shoulders and arms the way a blind person memorises a face. She grew to relish running her hands over his strong legs and back, always wondering at how young it all felt and how old it all was. She would feel his hardness, more and more insistent against her back and stomach, and even grew bold enough to touch it with her fingers, stroke it a bit, always much to his pleasure, but never entirely.

Most times, they used this time to grow closer, to bring a permanent, definitive, and they hoped, airtight seal to the gulf that had formed in Kansas. But every time, though the pleasure was great, the frustration grew worse and the dreams grew more intense By the time of that twenty-fourth shower, accounting for the fact that they had now implicitly decided that they were now go sleep in the same bed, their adrenaline could have fueled a small city's electrical grid for a week. But their bed was mostly a hands-off place where Martha recovered and the Doctor slept beside her.

But every day, Martha's skin grew less and less raw. One fine morning, seventeen days after leaving Messaline, she awoke, as usual, to find him sitting nearby, already dressed and reading. He usually waited until they got into the deconamination room to check the status of her blisters, but that morning, just like the first morning, he asked her about them.

"Well you know," she said. "You saw yesterday that they're almost gone."

"Any pain?" he asked, putting the book aside and getting up on his knees beside her.

"Ankles," she answered. "Just like yesterday."

"Hmm," he said, and pulled the covers back to expose her legs.

"Oh, no don't do that," she whined. "It's too cold."

"Oh, relax, I'll be finished in a minute," he scolded, putting on his glasses. He shifted to the end of the bed and examined her feet and ankles. "There's no more blistering here. Just a bit of pink. Give it another day or two."

"Okay," she agreed, yawning. "Ready to decontaminate? Or would you rather do it after breakfast?"

He put his hands on his knees and sighed. "We probably don't need to anymore," he told her.

"Oh," she retorted, sounding as disappointed as he did. "What would happen if we did, and we didn't need to?"

"Nothing," he said. "I haven't really needed to all this time, and yet…"

"Well, maybe we could switch to the regular shower," she suggested softly, her voice muffled like a child's. "Of course, we'd have to go in together in order to conserve water."

The TARDIS recycles its own water, but he didn't feel it would be sporting to say so. "We could," he conceded. He lay down beside her again, on his side, his head resting in one hand. He smirked. "But that would be like admitting that we only do it 'cause we like it."

She looked at him and smiled. "Yeah, that would be bad," she joked.

He leaned forward on a whim and kissed her exposed collar bone. She sighed, encouraging him to do it again. He moved one inch to the left and repeated the action.

"How do the sheets feel to you?" he asked, making his way across her clavicle.

"Soft," she responded. "Like they're a part of me." Her eyes were closed, and she was lost in something.

"What if some friction occurred between your skin and the sheets? Do think it would hurt you?"

"Not anymore," she told him. "Not like last week when I couldn't turn over without it hurting.

He undid the first button, and his lips made their way down her sternum. "A great amount of pressure would not cause you pain? A lot of chafing, perhaps even for a long period of time?"

"No," she said, trying to sound dreamlike, but her voice was tightening.

"Even if you were pushed very hard into the matress repeatedly?"

"Even then," she whispered.

"Even if you squirmed a lot?"

"Even then," she repeated.

He pushed himself up on his hands and looked at her. "Sure?"

She felt him hard, just like every other day, but with his entire weight upon her. The pressure was delicous, and suddenly her body felt flushed with fire. "Yes. And I can tell that you are too."

"I feel like this all the time," he told her. "Awake, asleep, playing tennis… it's all I can do to keep myself under control."

"Me too," she confessed.

"Yeah?"

She nodded.

He unbuttoned the rest of her pyjama top and slid his hand down her body. He extended his finger into her folds, and felt, for the first time properly, her clitoris engorged and pushing against his touch. She was slick and sensitive, and she jumped a little when he touched her.

"All the time?" he asked, stroking.

She nodded again, her eyes wide, her body inflamed. He said nothing more, just kept his finger at a steady rhythm, stared into her eyes and waited. A minute was all it took. Her eyes flew shut and her mouth flew open, and soon every cell in her body seemed to be in spasm. And then it was over, and a calm appeared on her face.

When she opened her eyes, he didn't bother to hold back anymore. He covered her mouth and body with his, kissed her with everything he had. She nearly broke his glasses then trying to get them off his face, and began to grasp at his clothes as though she had contempt for them. It was an emotional unertaking, watershed. A line had been crossed this morning, certainly for Martha, and at last, they were both coming to the finish line from the same starting point.

"Ow!" she said suddenly.

"What?" he asked, distracted, tasting the skin on her shoulders.

"Ow!" she repeated. "Doctor, something's wrong!"

"What's wrong?" he wanted to know, but only sort of.

"My chest," said breathlessly. "The burning is back. Doctor, stop."

He stopped and looked at her. "Hold on," he said quizzically. "I feel it too. That's weird."

He sat up and looked down at her. She said, "Okay, now it's gone."

"But I can still feel it. What's that about?" He patted his chest down, and winced. "Blimey!" he exclaimed. He reached in his breast pocket and extracted the offending article. It was burning hot, and he winced one more time, tossing it to the side.

"Is that…?" Martha asked, sitting up against her elbows.

"Yeah," he said. "It's never done that before!"


	15. A Relationship Interrupted

A RELATIONSHIP INTERRUPTED

"Are you kidding me?" asked Martha as the Doctor ran round the console. She was chasing him, as a matter of fact, without really realising it.

"But people never really stop loving books," the Doctor said, trying to reason with her. He threw his overcoat on and headed for the door. She followed him.

"Well, that's not in dispute," she said. "But seriously. We stopped doing… _that, _for _this_?" She looked about. They were in a large, echoing, cavernous room with discrete streams of light coming in from above. The place was deserted and mostly dark, and on a normal day, Martha would have been fascinated. But not today. What the hell were they doing here?

He grunted at her, in a half-hearted acknowledgement of what she had said. He wasn't that happy either, in fact, his adrenaline levels at this stage were sky-high. They had been for weeks now, and he'd allowed himself no respite, except in his dreams. He tried to look upon it as a good thing. Like it or not, the tension he was feeling was driving him forward, and in this environment, he knew he'd be glad of something to give him an extra push.

And for her part, Martha wanted to scream, "But we were so close! Just take me back into the console room… five minutes! That's all I'm asking! Whatever it is, it can wait five minutes!" But somehow she refrained. Five minutes, she knew, was not nearly enough to burn out the kind of fire the two of them had kindled. Even with the relief he'd given her just now, she was still chewing her fingernails as they stepped out of the TARDIS. That had been a much-needed release, but in the end it had managed to serve as a small salad before a fine meal. Five minutes was definitely not going to do the trick.

And, she grudgingly told herself, she trusted that the Doctor knew when something was important. If they had ignored the signal, he would have been distracted anyhow, and she didn't want that. When the time came, he needed to focus on her. On _them_.

Clearly, the time was not now. After the psychic paper had begun to burn in his pocket, as it had never done before, he had examined it with metal tongs with he extracted from a drawer somewhere in the bedroom, and then had insisted that they investigate. Investigate what, he did not say. He'd put on a fresh suit then, and for the first time in two weeks, Martha had gone back to her own room to change. They needed a few minutes apart if they were going to have an adventure with their clothes _on_.

"Fifty-first century," the Doctor announced, struding across the hardwood floors away from the TARDIS. "By now, you've got holovids, direct-to-brain downloads, fiction-mist. But you need the smell. The smell of books, Martha. Deep breath."

He pushed himself through a pair of wooden doors, and before she followed him through, she said, "The smell of books. Trying to sweet-talk me?"

They explored what appeared to be a run-of-the-mill, albeit startlingly large, library. But as they came upon an open-air section, with Roman columns and a deep, wide balcony, Martha looked out upon the world that seemed to stretch into nowhere, and there were books as far as the eye could see. He explained that The Library takes up the entire planet, and at the core of the planet, dwelled the largest hard-drive ever. Oddly, though, no-one else seemed to be in The Library, though it was the largest in the universe. The Library, the planet, was silent.

The sonic screwdriver coaxed a nearby computer into operation.

"Maybe they're all monks," Martha suggested as the Doctor squinted at the screen.

"It's a library, Martha," he told her. "If that were true, the planet would be called The Monastery."

"Well," she tried again. "Maybe there's a match on and everyone's inside watching telly."

"No, that's _your _planet," he said. "And even so, they'd still show up on the system."

His tone felt dismissive to her. Though she trusted the Doctor's instincts and had once been accustomed to being pushed aside by him, it really pissed her off this time. And it didn't take a Time Lord to work out why. "Doctor why are we here?" she demanded. "Really, why?"

Without looking at her, he said, "Oh, you know…"

"Oh, please don't give me that," she scolded. "The last conversation we had was about whether the bedsheets would hurt my skin if I was pressed into them repeatedly for a long period of time, and now we're in _a library!_ Why?"

He finally turned to look at her. He thought it might be nice just then to kiss her, take her face in his hands, press his lips in and promise her that they would be back in the TARDIS as soon as was absolutely possible. But even a kiss would have been dangerous now. So he just touched her shoulders.

"Martha, I promise," he said earnestly. "We will not stay here any longer than strictly necessary."

Even this felt dismissive and condescending to her, but she decided to keep quiet. She had to bite her lip to keep from hurling back at him, and she felt that if he tried to smile now or give her the crooked eyebrows or make an innuendo, she'd be forced to kill him on the spot. But he didn't, and that was good. Nevertheless, she was now uncertain whether the first thing she wanted to do when they got back to the TARDIS was have a confrontation (their first fight!) or that other thing…

The computer made a noise, and the Doctor turned back to it. It told them that over a trillion life forms were in residence here, but only two of them humanoid. This made Martha decidedly nervous, and she looked around her. Suddenly, the air looked different, the marble walls, the floors. Everything and anything could be alive and watching them. Her eyes skimmed over the masses of books, and imagined an entire planet filled with them. That could be a trillion, couldn't it? If six billion people could fit on the Earth, then, "Well, maybe it's the books that are alive."

He looked at her sideways with a kind of nerve-soaked mystery. She'd hit upon something.

An electronic voice startled them, welcoming them to The Library. They followed the sound back to the room where they'd begun. The voice belonged to a kind of living statue – not quite a droid, definitely not quite living – played a message that The Library had sealed itself off, and then implied that some violent act had taken place on the day the message was left. And then it warned them to stay out of the shadows…

Martha took the Doctor's arm as a comfort, and absently noted that the face speaking to them seemed oddly, disturbingly, real.

Still with her clinging to him, they made their way through the same set of double wooden doors, and returned to a hallway that seemed to run into the horizon, of course, stacked to the ceiling with books. Something had happened here which caused all humanoid life forms to disappear, and something was amiss with the shadows. They were in danger, and he wasn't talking.

Inside, she was fuming. She was angry, sexually frustrated, and now frightened. The Doctor's cryptic answers were of no help to her, and in fact, they were threatening to rob her of all composure. But she managed to try the calm approach. "So, we're just passing through, are we?"

He stopped in the corridor. "Yeah, I kind of, sort of… well, I guess I should tell you. I got a message on the psychic paper."

He showed it to her, and almost immediately, a message appeard on the blank bit of card, "The Library. Come as soon as you can."

"What do you think? Cry for help?" he asked her.

"Why did you keep this from me?"

"Well, look at it."

She took it in her hands and examined the message. "What about it?"

"Don't you think…" he stopped and swallowed.

"What?"

"Well, the handwriting," he said, his voice higher than usual. "Don't you think it's a woman?"

She squinted at him as though he were speaking Turkish. "You thought I'd be jealous?"

He grabbed the psychic paper from her and shoved it defensively back into his pocket. "Yeah, well, stranger things have happened."

"Should I be jealous?" she asked, regretting it as soon as it was out of her mouth.

He stared nervously at his red shoes as he shuffled them on the floor. "I thought… well, aren't we… you'd have every right, under the circumstances… I mean, you're my… you know…"

She sighed. "I do know. We are. And I am. I just mean, who is it from, and should I be worried about her?"

"No idea."

"Because if I need to defend my turf, just tell me now."

"Honestly, Martha. No idea."

"So why are we answering the call?"

"It's a cry for help, Martha, I can't just…" he said. "Besides, I'd like to know how the hell she made it burn."

Just then, they heard a buzzing sound coming from far away. On the horizon of the vast hallway, a light went out. The buzzing sound repeated itself again and again, coming closer all the time. Lights were extinguishing faster and faster, until the shadows began to close in. And then the Doctor screamed one of his favourite words: "Run!"

The nearest door was wooden, and warped shut. The Doctor yelled that the sonic screwdriver wouldn't allow them to penetrate wood. Then he began machine-gunning through his mouth about vibrating the molecules, frying bindings, shatterlining, until the shadows were so close that Martha just grabbed him by the coat and dragged him, stumbling, further down the hall.

They found another door, this one made of wood also, but merely locked. The sonic worked just fine and they burst through the door and slammed it behind them, sealing it with the sonic.

With their backs against the door, he said, "Defend your turf? Are you kidding me?"

"Sorry," she panted.

"If I'd said that about you, you'd have shot me dead."

"I know. I said I was sorry."

"Blimey," he whined, walking forward.

They found themselves in a rounded room, a kind of library reading room. In the middle of the room, an electronic device was suspended in the air, perhaps four feet off the ground. It was the size and shape of a football, but seemed to have scopes and electronic readout.

The Doctor spoke to it. "Oh, hello. Sorry to burst in on you like this. Okay if we stop here for a bit?"

His words seemed to snuff out its signal, because the shutter closed on the scope, as though the thing were closing its eyes, and it fell to the floor with a _thud_.

The Doctor assumed it was a security camera, and when he tried to repair it with the sonic, the readout flashed the message, "No, stop it! No! No!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I really am!" the Doctor exclaimed at it. "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry!" He put the device on the floor with great care and said to Martha, "It's alive."

Next, the readout said, "The Library is breached. Others are coming."

"That's probably not good," Martha commented, reading over his shoulder.

He didn't answer, he just stood up, and she followed suit.

She looked up at the open-air dome above, and turned her eyes to take in yet another veritable sea of literature. "Well, maybe it's not all bad," she said as she wandered sideways, still looking up.

Suddenly, the Doctor's arms were around her waist, but the look on his face did not suggest that he'd be keen to get distracted just now.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Shadow, look."

She looked at the floor, the area she would have wandered into if he hadn't stopped her. A triangular shadow interrupted the sort of compass rose pattern on the floor. "What about it?" she wanted to know.

"What's casting it?" he asked her, cryptically.

She looked up and saw nothing but the open-air dome with light streaming in, but absolutely no triangular objects impeding its progress. The shadow seemed to be a single entity.

The Doctor looked about just as she had. He muttered something about fission cells, and for a moment, Martha followed his gaze with her eyes. When her vision came back down low, she noticed that the shadow had gone. She pointed out this fact to the Doctor.

"We need to get back to the TARDIS," he told her. It came out low, like a growl, a sense of danger weighing it down.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because that shadow hasn't gone," he said, taking her hand. "It's moved."

"Reminder," a voice said. Their eyes fell upon another disturbingly real statue-thing, who continued, "The Library has been breached. Others are coming. Reminder, the Library has been breached. Others are coming."

Through the warped wooden door, suddenly burst six humanoids, identical in their appearance except for their varying heights. Their mechanically heavy movements and white suits reminded Martha of the cloned Storm Troopers from _Star Wars_. Their visors were down and dark, and no discernible facial features helped to make them less alarming to look at. They advanced toward the Doctor and Martha like a slow-moving army. One of them walked right up to the Doctor and stopped, while the rest of them dispersed about the room.

Martha's heart was pounding, until the humanoid reached up atop her helmet and switched the darkening feature off the visor. The face of an attractive woman appeared, unsmiling, but not unkind. She seemed to look at the Doctor with a bit of exasperated resignation, and she said, "Hello, handsome."

"Get out," he said back to her. To the whole room, he ordered, "All of you, turn around, get back in your rocket and fly away. Tell your grandchildren you came to The Library and lived – they won't believe you."

The woman told the others it was okay to remove their helmets, and then asked the Doctor, matter-of-factly, about whether The Library had sustained damage in the northern sector where she assumed he'd come in. He ignored the question and began to ask her again to leave, but in mid-sentence switched gears. "Why are you here?"

"My expedition," one of the others said angrily. "I've paid for exclusives."

"Oh, you're not archaeologists, are you?" asked the Doctor with a rather syrupy, whining tone.

"Got a problem with archaeologists?" the woman asked.

"I'm a time traveller. I point and laugh at archaeologists."

"Ah," she said, extending her hand. "Professor River Song, archaeologist."


	16. Shadow

**This might be the biggest change to canon yet, and I do apologize to you all you River Song fans. I'm sorry! I promise the bitchiness won't last long... relatively speaking. But if you find yourself hating me for it, think back to when Martha was in her shoes... **

**And Martha will soon find this encounter quite useful and enlightening!**

* * *

SHADOW

The Doctor shook her hand, but then began instructing everyone in the room to leave the planet, seal it off, et cetera, and by the way, stay out of the shadows.

While everyone stared at the Doctor deadpan, Professor River Song asked the Doctor directly, "Do you think there's danger here? The Library's been silent for a hundred years, whatever came here and killed everyone is long dead."

"Bet your life?" he asked, boring holes into her skull with his eyes.

River met his gaze. She did not smile nor flinch. "Always."

Bold, she was. She reminded Martha a little bit of her own mother, in her mannerisms and no-nonsense attitude. She did not have to be told that this was the person who had sent the message on the psychic paper.

The Doctor grabbed a torch from one of the men standing about, and shined it into one of the dark corners. Martha sidled up close. "What the hell is happening?"

"Almost every species in the universe has an irrational fear of the dark. But they're wrong 'cause it's not irrational. It's Vashta Nerada. It's what's in the dark. It's what's always in the dark."

"You sound like you're narrating an episode of Masterpiece Theatre. And anyway, that's not what I meant," she said.

"I know. But it's all I've got right now." He looked at her, and his eyes actually told her he knew what she wanted from him.

She looked back at him and waited for more, but instead of obliging, he addressed the room. "Lights! That's what we need, lights! Form a circle, safe area, big as you can, lights pointing out."

"Do as he says," River told her people.

"You're not listening to this man?" one of the men asked.

"Apparently, I am," she told him forcefully. "Anita, unpack the lights. Other Dave, make sure the door's secure, then help Anita. Mr. Lux, put your helmet back on and block the visor. Proper Dave, find an active terminal, access the library database. See what you can find out about what happened here a hundred years ago."

She turned to the Doctor, who seemed to be listening to the tiles on the floor. "And you," she spat. "You thick, _thick_ genius, you… you're with me."

The Doctor got to his feet and went to the terminal where _Proper_ Dave was working.

"Doctor," Martha whispered, coming up beside him. "I think the Professor is waiting for you."

"What? Why?"

"Thick genius, she said. That's you."

"Thick?"

Martha cocked an eyebrow and rested her hands on her hips.

"Yeah," he shrugged, conceding as he walked away.

He found River in a corner, unpacking some things from a rucksack. "Thanks," she said.

"For what?"

"Coming when I called."

"Oh, that was you?" he asked.

Before he had a chance to ask why and how she'd made the psychic paper burn, she was speaking again. "You're doing a very good job acting like you don't know me. But then again you always did."

He stared at her blankly through his eyeglasses.

She caught his eye and sighed. "You're young," she said with a smile.

"I'm really not, you know," he said, smiling back, knowingly.

"Your eyes, though… younger than I've ever seen you," she mused. She reached up to touch his face, but stopped herself. She swallowed hard, and looked at her hand as though to scold it.

He looked at her hand as well. He didn't mind River Song as an individual, but he wasn't keen on this woman touching him, not with the state of things and Martha watching from the opposite corner. He couldn't blame her – in her shoes, he reckoned he'd be watching fairly closely as well. "You've seen me before, then?" he asked, trying to remain calm and not to alarm her.

"Doctor, please tell me you know who I am." In her eyes, he could see fear.

But he _honestly _didn't know her, and he wasn't about to pretend. "Who are you?"

"Typical," she said, resignedly, sitting back against a heavy table.

* * *

Martha had heard nothing of their conversation, but had watched as discreetly as she could, without stepping into the shadows. River Song looked retiring, and in her eyes she harboured something Martha recognised very well. When she looked at the Doctor, there was clear longing. And on the Doctor's face, utter unrecognition. Cluelessness. He had no idea who he was dealing with, and this woman knew it. Martha observed River's demeanour go from businesslike to wistful. She had seen River's hand go up to touch the Doctor's face, and then hesitate in disappointment and sadness. She had seen River sit back against the table as though she had given up.

Professor River Song was, Martha could see, a kind of kindred spirit with Martha herself. She felt her own angst mirrored on River's face, and in the way she had called him _thick_. And Martha was now certain of two things. One: River felt much the same way as Martha had for over two years while travelling with and for the Doctor, before their one-year pact. Two: the Doctor was totally oblivious to it.

Oh, certainly he could see the pain on River's face, the desperation in her eyes, the hope. Anyone could see that. But the reason behind it all, the love that fueled River's slow ache? He'd never notice in a million years. Not unless she hit him over the head with it as Martha had.

Marthat hoped she wouldn't.

What Martha was not certain of was how and why River had felt free to send a message on the psychic paper when the Doctor clearly had no idea who she was.

* * *

Over the next hour, a sequence of strange and terrible events occurred. A little girl appeared on one of the comm units, and she seemed to have a conversation with the Doctor. Oddly, she seemed to think that the Library was _hers_, and that she was watching it on television. Then she disappeared, and the Doctor couldn't get her back.

Shortly thereafter, books began flying off the shelves inexplicably, as though they had a mind and destination of their own. The name "Cal" began to show up on the computer screen, and the Doctor zeroed in on it, as though it held the key to the whole mystery. Mr. Lux seemed to know a thing or two about Cal, and resisted the Doctor's prodding when asked to tell. Somehow the Library and Cal was tied up with his family, and he wasn't going to say how.

But River sang. She filled the Doctor and Martha in on how one hundred years before, a cryptic message had come from the Library before it shut down and everyone disappeared.

"There was one other thing in the last message," she said.

"That's confidential!" Mr. Lux protested.

"I trust this man with my life," she told Lux. "With everything."

"You've only just met him!" Lux protested again.

"No, he's only just met me."

Odd.

River showed the Doctor the readout on a portable comm device: "4,022 saved, no survivors."

Also odd.

Meanwhile, the flying books had caused one of River's people, Miss Evangelista, a great deal of stress, and none of her own crew mates seemed to care. Martha tried to comfort her, afraid that she might begin to hyperventilate and have a panic attack. She confessed that everyone – the entire crew, even her family – thought she was a moron. Martha assured her that _she_ didn't think Miss Evangelista was a moron…

And twenty minutes after that, Miss Evangelista wandered into a shadow and died.

In spite of all the warnings, the great big spaces of light they had created, the relative safety of the reading room, she had gone off through a dark passage and somehow been stripped of all her flesh. Martha was glad that she had assured her in some of her last living moments that there was someone who didn't think she was stupid, and she was glad (though totally freaked out) to be the one to speak to Miss Evangelista's living consciousness just before it dissipated. A collective, guilty sadness fell over the group as they all silently realised how terribly they had treated her, and Martha wept into the Doctor's jacket like a baby.

Afterwards, the Doctor had thrown a chicken leg into a shadow and they all watched as the darkness consumed all of the flesh on the bone.

"You travel with him, don't you?" River asked Martha, as they stood by watching the Doctor work a kind of magic in the shadows. "The Doctor, you travel with him?"

"Erm, yeah," Martha said, swallowing hard. "Yes, I do." It was the first proper words they had directly exchanged.

"Lucky you," River retorted, almost bitterly.

Martha felt affronted. After the day she'd had, she was in no mood for this. But she did understand River's feelings, that resentment in her voice. "Yeah, lucky me," Martha managed to say, as sincerely as possible. She was proud of herself for not being too confrontational. "Who _are _you? Do you even know him?"

"I know him," River replied. "All too well, I should think. But he hasn't met me yet. I suppose if I were cleverer, I'd turn him in a different direction now, save myself some heartache. Doesn't work that way, I know." She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the Doctor, biting her upper lip.

"Why did you send that message, then?" Martha wanted to know. "How did you know he'd come?"

"It arrived too early," she sighed. "He looks at me… he looks right through me. He always has, it's the way he always was – the way _we _always were. It shouldn't kill me anymore, but it does."

"I hear that," Martha said.

"What do you mean, _you hear that_?"

"I've been there. That feeling that he's looking right through you," she said. "That you're giving everything, but he doesn't see you… I saw it in your eyes, River. I know…"

"Martha," the Doctor said from across the room, almost an admonition. "Please don't do this now." He kept on working with the shadows, shining the sonic into the darkness.

"Sorry," Martha said.

Suddenly, River was looking at her very differently. Her eyes had narrowed, and her teeth were parted as though any inserted object might find itself bitten in two. "Martha," she whispered. "You're Martha? Martha Jones?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I do know the Doctor," River said to her. It was almost a hiss. "But in the future – his _personal _future."

"But you don't know me?"

"Oh, I know you," River said, her words dripping like melting ice. She began backing away from Martha, acidity covering her face. "I know you, Martha Jones. Doctor, I wish you'd warned me to stay out of the shadows long ago, 'cause it was murder being in hers."

The Doctor got to his feet. "Excuse me?" he asked her. "What are you on about?"

"Martha Jones," River Song spat. "The beautiful, talented, brilliant, _doctor_, Martha Jones! Do you know you're perfect in every way? 'Cause I do. Reminded of it every day for over a year!"

Martha and the Doctor looked at each other. Martha finally understood, but she could see that the Doctor did not. More than ever, Martha could see the world from River's point of view now. Unfortunately, she was the last person River wanted to listen to. River's crew was looking at her with a bit of fear mixed with question. They were looking at each other for answers, which none of them had.

"And did you know that the _angels wept_ when he kissed you the first time?" River asked her, her voice nearing 'rant' mode.

"Oh, now you're just exaggerating," the Doctor said. "I mean, I would never say something like that. Besides, it was on the moon!"

River ignored him, and continued to taunt Martha. "And did you know that when he lost you, a void grew in his life so wide and so deep that _no one _could fill it?" Suddenly, River grew very quiet. She walked up very close to Martha and looked her dead in the eye. Her voice was now at a whisper. "And did you know that he told me point-blank that I was _not_ a replacement for you? That he threatened to take me home after every single adventure we had, just because I wasn't Martha Jones?"

Martha had no idea what to say. She didn't trust herself to say anything without bursting into tears anyhow, so she said nothing. She simply stared back at River Song, trying to convey sympathy.

"River," the Doctor said firmly. "Clearly, your problem is with me. Deal with me. Leave her alone."

Again, she ignored the Doctor and spoke to Martha. "Have you been around the world on foot yet?"

"Don't answer that, Martha," the Doctor advised. "You don't have to say anything to her."

"Yes," Martha answered. "I have."

"Brilliant. Adipose 3?"

"Yes."

River seemed to swallow hard, as though she were winding up for a large blow. "Been to Hervang yet?" It came out as a croak, just above a whisper, and she seemed not to be able to look Martha in the eye as she asked.

Martha looked at the Doctor. He seemed almost to know what River meant. "No, we haven't been to Hervang."

River smiled. "Interesting. What about Messaline?"

"Yes, we've been to Messaline."

River smiled even brighter. "Oh ho! Well, you've been to Messaline, but not yet to Hervang! Now that _is _interesting news indeed!" She turned to the Doctor. "Boy, you must be about ready to explode right about now, eh?" She was laughing with malevolence, as though she were the mad genius with the heroes tied to a post in her basement.

Martha asked the Doctor, "What's in Hervang?"

"It's a resort planet," he said, simply. "I made reservations there this morning."

"Went there on my honeymoon," Lux volunteered. "Well, the third one. Fourth one we went to Renkaris II."

"Er, Professor Song?" one of the men chimed in. He was the one with the wild hair, the one she had referred to as _Other_ Dave. "Perhaps a bit of rest…"

"No, I'm fine," she said, seeming to regain her composure straight away. "Perfectly fine now."

"Well, clearly," the Doctor said, shoving his hands in his pockets and eyeing the Professor sceptically.

"In any case," Other Dave continued, shyly. "Perhaps we should continue with our work?"

River shined her torch through the darkness. "Every shadow?" she asked the Doctor.

"No, but any shadow," he answered. In that exchange, for the first time, Martha could see a bit of the Doctor-Companion rapport. There was a chemistry there, obviously.

"What do we do?" River asked, in the typically Companion-like fashion.

"Daleks? Aim for the eye stalk. Sontarans? Back of the neck," he said. "Vashta Nerada? Run. Just run." She responded with the due gravity of the situation, and her face equalled the Doctor's voice in sheer drama.

And then _Proper_ Dave's spacesuit was stalked by a shadow, and he was taken by what the Doctor had called the Piranhas of the Air. The Vashta Nerada used his space suit to move about, and his bare skull stared out at them from behind his visor. The Doctor, Martha, River Song and what was left of her crew ran like mad down the outer corridor, the one that seemed to go on forever.


	17. Five Minutes and Counting

FIVE MINUTES AND COUNTING

In a well-lit corridor, four people in space suits and Martha Jones stood, bent at the waist, panting. The Doctor was up on a shelf hanging on, sonicking the lighting fixtures.

"Well, I'll say this for you," Martha said to River. "You can run. No wonder he likes you."

River chuckled, and agreed. She nudged Martha gently with her elbow. "Look, I'm sorry about back there. Those things, they just needed saying. I've been away from him for two years now, and I thought I was done with it, the thing where I torture myself… but seeing him again…"

"I get it," Martha said.

"Yeah, I know you do."

"More than you know."

"I'm rather ashamed to admit this, but I went through a period when I would actually _rehearse_ what I would say to you if I ever had the chance," River confessed.

"Really?" Martha asked with a smile.

"Yeah, I used to sit in my room in the TARDIS – your room too, before you moved in with him – in front of that vanity mirror and tell you off. It was pathetic, but it made me feel better."

"Was that it, that speech back there?"

"Well, most of it. Some of the profanity was edited out," River joked.

"How do you know about Messaline and Hervang… whatever that means?"

"I knew your name straight away – I think he slipped and mentioned it when he didn't mean to. But mostly, he just moped, kept everything hidden. Whenever your name came up, whenever something would jog his memory, he'd go all catatonic. Well, one night, I just got fed up with his silence, the cryptic answers about being lost and alone and grief-stricken, and I demanded to be told. Long story short, he told me the highlights, how he met you in hospital, how you looked after him when he was hiding as John Smith, how you saved the world from the Master."

"I see," Martha nodded.

"But it was the story after that point which made my life miserable – you can imagine why. On that front, he told me much more than I wanted to know. I think he'd got on a roll and just couldn't stop himself."

"Yikes, I'm sorry."

"Some things you just can't un-hear, you know? The decontamination shower stories, for instance," River said. "In startling detail. I still have nightmares about it."

"I can't believe he'd do that to you," Martha whispered. "Actually, I can. But still."

"Have you got to the final morning yet, when you tell him your ankles are the last thing hurting?"

Martha blushed. "Yes. That was today."

River sighed. "Yeah, if you haven't got to Hervang yet, you're both running on pure hormones right now." She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.

On the one hand, Martha felt as though the Doctor would be betraying _her_ by sharing those precious moments with someone else. On the other hand, she felt affronted on behalf of River. She remembered her conversation with the Doctor in the cornfield, about his time with Rose. Martha was sure they had had a sexual relationship and had felt she was ready to hear it, but she tried to imagine what it would be like to hear actual details. "Oh God!"

"Well, in his defence, he was misted, and so was I," River confessed.

Martha looked blank.

"Intoxicating mist, a free service in the Pedleone region of Alforax 5, whether you want it or not," River explained. "I was sort of hoping it would be like Tequila, and we'd both forget everything the next day, but no such luck."

"Did he tell you the details of Hervang?"

"Thankfully, no," River said. "Just the highlight. Or highlights, plural, depending on how you want to see it."

"Good," Martha said.

River smiled in an exhausted sort of way. "You'll be very, _very_ happy, I'm sure."

A question had been eating away at her, ever since River had begun her rant back in the reading room. She was fairly certain she didn't want to know, and fairly certain River wouldn't answer the question anyway, but she asked in spite of herself. "Why is he so grief-stricken? Why has he lost me?"

River looked at her with an expression that seemed to convey, _Come on now, you know I can't say._

"I figured," Martha said.

"It's a long time from now," River told her. "That's all I'm going to give you. You know you don't want to know anyway."

"Martha, come here, will you?" the Doctor called from down the corridor. She shrugged and went. He handed her the sonic, and said, "Hold this button down and aim it at the light bulb, okay?"

"Okay," she said, and did as he asked. "You know, you're unbelievable."

"Thanks," he said, opening an electrical panel and twisting wires, causing the bulb to flicker.

"That wasn't a compliment."

"What did I do now?" he asked, looking down at her. He couldn't decide, it seemed, upon anger or confusion.

"Not now, in the future!"

"Are you really wagging your finger at me for something I haven't even done yet?"

"Doctor," she said. "All this time, I've thought you were the cleverest man in the universe. But a clever man learns from his mistakes. I thought that what happened with _us_ would teach you a lesson, but apparently, you're just doomed to repeat."

He sighed. "Martha, can we talk about this later?"

"Don't think we won't."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He stole a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She had already turned her attention to something else, thank goodness. This was the part of relationships he'd forgotten about. He'd already done two or three things since coming to the Library to put himself into the doghouse. He smiled a little at the thought. It had been a while since he'd dreaded a conversation like the one she was promising to force him to have.

"Hey, who turned out the lights?" a voice said from somewhere nearby. It was Proper Dave's ghosting voice, and his zombie-like suit possessed of the Vashta Nerada.

"We have to get somewhere safe," Martha said, her voice raised in urgency.

"Somewhere safe, are you kidding me?" he asked. "There's nowhere safe on the whole of this planet!" He jumped down from the upper shelf.

"Well, what's the nearest part of the library, that's also the best-lit?" Martha asked.

"I don't know! Mr. Lux?"

"Hey who turned out the lights?"

"I don't know either," Lux shouted back. "I haven't memorised the electrical grid for the whole planet!"

"Never mind," River cried. "Let's just run!"

"Wait, wait!" the Doctor shot back, grabbing River as she tried to run past him. He turned to one of the statue things nearby. "Can you tell us? The nearest, best-lit part of the library, where is it?"

"Hey, who turned out the lights?" Proper Dave's electronic voice was growing nearer, and Martha's heart was pounding faster.

The mechanical head turned very slowly and faced the Doctor. The face on the device was decidedly familiar. It was the pretty, distinctive face of Miss Evangelista.

"Oh my God!" River Song cried out, her voice rising in pitch. Her hand flew to her mouth and tears came to her eyes. She began to back away. "That's.... oh my God!"

"The shadows are closing in," Miss Evangelista's voice said. "Nowhere is safe."

The Doctor turned and grabbed River by the arms once again. "River, River, just calm down..."

"Hey, who turned out the lights?" Louder still. Proper Dave's suit was clearly just round the corner, on the other side of the nearest library stacks.

"That's her dead face!" River cried out.

Lux, Anita and Other Dave grabbed onto her as well, trying to calm her, trying to get her to move in the other direction.

"Doctor!" Martha cried out. "The lights are going out!"

"The shadows are closing in, nowhere is safe," the statue repeated.

Just as she said this, Proper Dave's suit came into view, along with his grotesquely bare skull and his horrible unstable gait. "Hey, who turned out the lights?"

The Doctor looked in the direction Martha was pointing. The lights were indeed extinguishing one-by-one, alarmingly quickly. The Vashta Nerada were approaching from both directions. River Song's remaining companions began to panic, which seemed to spark something in her.

"Stand aside," she demanded. Other Dave, Anita and Lux got immediately out of the way. She pulled a weapon from her belt and fired it at the wall. A laser-like beam came from the device in the shape of a square, and a hole appeared in the wall where she had fired. It was just large enough for them to climb through.

"The squareness gun!" the Doctor exclaimed.

"The what?" asked Martha.

"This way!" River cried. "Quickly! Move!"

River's people went through first, then she ushered Martha through, then River herself, and lastly the Doctor. Once on the other side, River turned and re-sealed the hole just the way she had opened it. "Right into the centre of the light, quickly!"

"What the hell is that thing?" Martha asked her.

"It belonged to Captain Jack," the Doctor said. "He pulled me and Rose out of a pickle or two with that. River, where did you get it?"

"Found it in his old room while I was looking for a pair of boots to wear on Trantux's outer basin," she panted.

"Oh, yes, the mud," the Doctor said.

"You said I could have it," River told him. She looked at the weird gun-thing in her hand. "Consolation prize, I guess." She shoved it back in her belt.

The Doctor's jaw tightened and he looked at River with exasperation.

"Er, are we back where we started?" asked Other Dave.

"Yep. We're in the reading room again."

"Doctor," River Song said. "Shadows..."

"Doing it," he answered her. He crossed the room and picked up a torch that one of them had dropped when they'd run from the thing that was no longer Proper Dave. He tossed it to Martha, and she just barely caught it. "With me, please."

She followed him to the far side of the reading room.

* * *

"What are we doing?" Martha asked. She was vaguely aware of the group of travellers behind her, huddled, probably talking about her and the Doctor at this very moment.

"Just hold the torch like this," he said, adjusting her wrist. He buzzed the sonic screwdriver at the shadows, looking for a live one.

"This is very disturbing," she commented.

"I know," he agreed. "But it's okay, because I think I've worked it out."

"Worked what out?"

"How this planet works," he said. "Seeing Miss Evangelista's face on the statue did it for me. She's become part of the operating system. She's part of the hard-drive now, and the computer is using her face as a kind of desktop icon."

"What? How could she become part of the hard-drive?"

Her torch had slipped a bit, and he corrected her wrist.

"I think the computer is saving people from the Vashta Nerada," he said.

"But it's not," Martha said. "The shadows ate her alive. We saw her bones, Doctor, remember? I know I'm only a _student_, but I know that when a person's been reduced to a skeleton, they haven't been saved."

"Then how did the Library get her face?" he asked her. She had no answer. "It's saving them at the very last second, taking what's left of them from the neural relay, that thing that stores the consciousness after death, and converting it to data that the Library can use."

"So all those people a hundred years ago, they might still be alive?" she asked.

"Might. In a manner of speaking," he muttered, correcting her wrist again. "It's lucky the computer chose this portion of the Library to express Miss Evangelista's face. Otherwise, it might've taken me ages longer to work this out."

"Can we get them back?" she asked. "Can we bring Miss Evangelista back, and save Proper Dave?"

"If we can stay alive long enough to do it, then maybe," he said. As if on cue, the sonic's buzz ramped up in pitch, and the Doctor said, "Well, hello."

* * *

Other Dave, Anita and Lux sat down to wait. Again. River stood and watched as the Doctor walked away from them with Martha Jones at his side.

"Who are they?" Other Dave asked. "They don't even know you, but you expect us to trust them."

"He's the Doctor," she answered wistfully.

"And who is _the Doctor_?" Lux wanted to know. His voice betrayed hostility.

River turned and looked at what was left of her crew. "The only story you'll ever tell. If you survive him."

"What about her?" Other Dave asked. "You went a bit mental..."

"I know," she said. "Sorry you all had to see that side of me. That's the selfish, petty side."

"I still don't get it," Dave said.

"I do," said Anita. She commiserated with the Professor with her eyes. "A many-splendoured thing, eh?"

River chuckled. "I hate that song."

"Me too."

A pause, and then, "Professor Song, what are you on about?" Lux asked, ever the battering ram of information-gathering.

"Mr. Lux, have you ever wanted anything so badly you could literally taste it? You could feel it in your bones, the tensing in your muscles, the rage inside? The gathering of a storm in your chest?"

"Of course."

"Have you ever had something standing in the way of it? Like a bloody brick wall between yourself and what you perceive to be perfection, or happiness... the thing that would make you complete?"

"Well, yes."

"Well, what if you had the chance, years later, to tear down that wall?"

He thought about it. "What good would it do, years later?"

"As a purge," she said. "A person can carry rage for a long, long time, Mr. Lux. Did you ever read about Berlin, back on Earth?"

"Besides," Other Dave said wisely. "He's a time-traveller, right? That's what good it could do."

"Right," she smiled. "But I have no intention of changing history – that, as the Doctor has taught me, would be exceedingly bad. Paradoxical." She seemed to be lost in thought for a few minutes, and her friends just watched her going farther and farther away. Suddenly she snapped out of it, and gazed across the room at Martha. "And so the wall must stand."

"At least it's a nice wall," Dave said.

"But it would be easier if she were a bitch," Anita offered, smiling. "Right?"

"_So_ much easier," River agreed.

Far away, she heard the sonic screwdriver's pitch go up, and she got to her feet straight away.

"What's that?" asked Lux.

"I need a chicken leg," River said. She turned to her crew. "Who's got a chicken leg?"

Other Dave reluctantly produced one from his pocket, and when River threw it into the shadows where the Doctor and Martha were standing, it was stripped. "We've got a hot one," she said. "Everybody, watch your feet."

"All right, just keep your eyes on it," the Doctor said. "If it moves, you move, have you got that?"

River, Martha and the others nodded.

"Martha, do you remember where the TARDIS is parked?"

"Yes," she said. "Why?"

"I'm going to need you to do something for me," he said. "You're not going to like it very much."

"Doctor, if I go back there and you try to send me home..."

"No, I won't do that, I promise. I couldn't do that. But listen," he said. "I need the TARDIS to assimilate a sample of Miss Evangelista's data. If it can do that, I might be able to fool the Library's computer into thinking it's compatible with the TARDIS, and therefore also the sonic screwdriver, and I might be able to transfer the data. Like a cut and paste. It's a longshot but it's all I've got right now."

"What are you doing?" asked River.

He explained to the group what he had just explained to Martha, how the computer had saved Miss Evangelista at the last moment, and his theory of how the 4,022 people saved might still be accessible data.

Martha thought she knew what he wanted, and he was right. She didn't like it. "You need me to get one of her bones, don't you?"

"Yes," he said. "Sorry."

"Wait," River said. "Can't you just use this?" She produced a neural relay drive from her pocket. It was the one from Miss Evangelista's suit. Martha had been so upset when she'd died, she hadn't noticed that River had detached the data just before it degraded completely.

The Doctor crossed to River, and took the chip from her. "Thank you."

"But the signal is badly degraded," River said.

"All it needs is a sample," he said. "Something that the sonic can home in on."

He held it up to show Martha. "There's a port in the console that looks like a USB, only wider. It's right under the monitor. Plug this into it. I'll get a signal on the sonic screwdriver that the sample has been detected. When you're done with that, you know that big yellow button that flashes sometimes?"

"Yeah," she said.

"Push it. Then _stay in the TARDIS._"

"What?"

"Stay in there. I want you safe. That yellow button puts up the TARDIS' defences so the Vashta Nerada can't get in."

"Okay, sure. Would you like me to have a pot roast ready when you get back, darling?"

"Martha, stop it. This is serious."

"So am I. I'll go, but I'm not staying out there."

He sighed. "Look, I don't have time for this. It's dangerous enough for you to go out there, it's twice as dangerous if you come back as well. Twice as much chance of getting _stripped of your flesh_."

"But she won't," River Song said.

"Excuse me, this is a private conversation," the Doctor snapped.

"Oh, I'm sorry," River said, hands on hips. "Is that why you're having it in the super-secret part of the room where no-one can hear you? Listen, I know as well as you do that you'll never get her to stay in the TARDIS, away from the action. I wouldn't do, if I were in her shoes. I never did. So you might as well stop wasting time and let her have her way, because I happen to know that she doesn't die today, all right?"

"Good enough for me," Martha chirped, then grabbed the neural relay out of his hand. She kissed the Doctor on the cheek and headed for the door. "I'll see you in five minutes."

"Run, Martha, I'm not kidding," he said. "Run like hell."

"I always do," she said, just before disappearing out through the warped doors.

"The future's not set in stone!" he yelled after her. "Blimey," he muttered, hands buried in his hair.

"She'll be fine," River assured him. "Still got Hervang ahead. She'd be a complete moron to die before getting there."

The Doctor gave her a dirty look, then paced round the room. In about two minutes, he heard a blip on the sonic. "She's in," he said. He fiddled with the settings, the pressed the button, and a sickly, worn-down version of the noise it usually made filled the space.

"Whoa," River said. "What's wrong with it?"

He pressed it to his ear. "I'm trying to get it to locate Miss Evangelista, but something's interfering with the signal." He shook it, tried again, same result. He grew agitated and began pacing again, circling he group of people standing in the light beneath the reading room's dome.

"Funny thing about my sonic screwdriver, very hard to interfere with," the Doctor was saying. The others just watched him circle round, looking at him the way they had been looking at him since they first met. "Practically nothing's strong enough... well, some hair-dryers. But there is a very strong signal coming from somewhere, and it wasn't there before. So! What's new, what's changed?"

When no-one answered for a few seconds, he practically screamed, "Come on! What's new? What's different?"

"I don't know, nothing!" Dave said. "It's getting dark?"

The Doctor stopped moving and looked squarely at Dave. "It's a screwdriver. It works in the dark." Then his expression changed from smug to that slightly daft, wide-eyed look he gets when he's got a bee in his bonnet. He looked up beyond the dome into the sky, and whispered, "Moonrise. Tell me about the moon. What's there?"

"It's not real," Lux told him. "It was built as part of the Library. It's just a doctor moon."

"What's a doctor moon?" the Doctor asked.

"A virus checker. It supports and maintains the main computer at the core of the planet."

The Doctor changed the sonic settings, and it buzzed, shining blue. "It's still active, 'cause look. Someone, somewhere in this Library is alive and communicating with the moon. Or possibly alive and drying their hair." He adjusted the switches again, and listened to the sickly buzz which returned once more. "No, the signal is definitely coming from the moon. I'm blocking it, but it's trying to break through."

He pressed a button, and turned the screwdriver sideways. As he did this, a weak projection came through. It was Miss Evangelista, dressed in some kind of tunic.

"Doctor!" River Song exclaimed.

"Miss Evangelista!" the Doctor cried out. And then, just as quickly, the projection faded and she was gone.

"What was that? Can you get her back?" River asked.

The Doctor again adjusted the settings, but the signal was weak and the buzz was pathetic.

"Professor?" Anita croaked.

"In a moment," River replied, focusing her attention on the Doctor.

"It's important," Anita said. "I have two shadows."

The Doctor and River Song both immediately turned their attention to her. She was crying, but standing perfectly still. She was remaining remarkably calm for a woman who would almost certainly die quite soon, but they took every precaution; everyone put on their helmets and darkened the visor.

That was just before they heard the dreaded phrase, "Hey who turned out the lights?" Proper Dave's space suit was standing in the warped doorway.

"Run!" the Doctor told everyone. Everyone obeyed, but he was standing still.

"Come on, Doctor! What are you doing?" River asked, tugging on his arm.

He resisted and said, "I've got to wait for Martha," he said. "She'll be coming back this way. If I leave, she won't know how to find me."

"Well, if she comes back and you're a pile of bones, she'll know even less how to find you, so I think it's better if you come with us!" She grabbed his arm again, using all of her strength, and pulled.

"River, I..."

"Look, I'm not giving you a choice here! You're coming with me!" she shouted. She used a trick then that her grandmother used on her brother when he was a teenager and insolent. She grabbed the Doctor by the earlobe and pulled.

"Aaaagh!" he cried, following her forcibly out of the room.


	18. Saved

SAVED

In less than ten minutes, they found themselves back in the reading room. River, Lux and Anita had doubled back while the Doctor tried to reason with a Vashta Nerada swarm in Proper Dave's suit. The Doctor fell through a trap door and caught himself on a beam, making his way back to find the other three, Anita still in her darkened suit.

"Where's Martha?" he asked, striding down the stairs. River hadn't known he was there. God forbid he should say hello or check on someone else's well-being before asking after Martha.

"I don't know," River said. "If she came back here and realised we were gone, then she went off to find you. She'll go back to the TARDIS eventually. She's not stupid."

"She reached the TARDIS from here in less than two minutes," he said. "It has now been ten minutes since I received the signal from the console – she should have been back four times over by now. There are now _two_ carnivorous shadow zombies stalking round the Library, and she's out there. Alone."

"Two?" River asked.

"Yeah, Other Dave won't be leaving with you, sorry," he said, off-handedly, walking past her.

River gulped. She would allow herself to grieve for all of her fallen comrades later on. "Unless you can work out how to get them back," she said, trying to catch up with him. "All those people on the hard drive, Doctor... maybe we can find them again! Before, you were all about finding a way..."

He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her, fear and anger dripping from his voice. "Things have changed a bit, haven't they?"

River song nodded sadly. "Martha."

"Martha."

"You're not going to be able to do anything else until you find her, are you?"

He shooke his head subtly.

"Then, God help me, I'll help you find her," she said. "How do you want to go about it?"

He looked around, as though looking for a way out, or possibly wondering if Martha had wandered back in miraculously. "I don't know, I don't know..." he said, beginning to pace again. "I'd say we should split up, send those two down to the main computer, try to bring back your friends, but they wouldn't have the slightest clue how to do it..."

"That's true," she said. "But keep talking, it usually helps you process."

"I could go down there myself and send them out to find Martha, but... Anita's already been attacked, and frankly, I think your Mr. Lux is a bit daft," he said.

"Also true," she said.

"I could try to override the computer's functions from here, but for that I'd need either a really long cable or a sonic screwdriver ramped up to the power of fifty," he continued, "Neither of which we have."

"Doctor..." she said, again, trying to catch him in mid-pace.

"River, do you have any negotiations experience? Because if you did, you could be a sort of ambassador... the Vashta Nerada, I'm convinced they can be reasoned with," he said, suddenly grabbing her by the shoulders. "They are sentient, and they're carnivorous but not malevolent. If we can convince them we're just in the wrong place at the wrong time and promise to stand down, then maybe they'll back off..."

"Doctor," she tried again.

"Ah, but no, even if one of the swarms agrees, there's still another one..." he let go of River's shoulders and began pacing once more, hands buried in his hair.

"Okay, I changed my mind. Stop talking, it's not helping," she said. She got into his path and stopped him walking. "Doctor, think. It's Martha. Just focus."

"I know, I know!" he yelled. "I can't think... I can't...."

Now it was her turn to grab him by the shoulders. As much as she was frustrated by him, as much as she was confused and rejected and hurt by him, she did love him. Already. Still. And she _knew_ him. She knew that he worked best under severe pressure. She knew that he was at his most brilliant when he was at his most frightened, but that he needed to focus, which was not always his strong suit. And she also knew from her years with him that there was one thing he could focus on better than anything, one thing that would scare him to death quicker than any other revelation she could impart.

She looked deeply into his eyes, and she said, very intentionally, "Doctor. _Martha Jones is in danger_." It was a call to arms and they both knew it. "Now what are you going to do about it?"

He looked into her as well, and found, oddly, that he was drawing strength and confidence from her. He didn't feel this way about everyone. She was a good human being, and clever, he'd known that from the beginning. But she was a true companion to him; this knowledge was new. For the first time since meeting her today, he could feel it. She knew how to steady him, how to reach in and pluck out the best of the Doctor. "I bet I like you," he said.

She smiled and shrugged. "Well enough."

"I'm sorry," he told her.

"It's all right," she said. "It's done."

"Not for me."

"Listen to me. Don't change anything, Doctor. Not one moment of it. You love her, and don't let me, or anyone else take that from you, all right? I may hate you for a while, but I love you, and I will be fine. Just... find Martha, okay."

"Core of the planet," he said.

"What?"

"She heard me say that the hard-drive was saving these people," he said. "She knows me, she'll know I'll eventually wind up there."

"Then let's do it," River said. She gestured to the seal on the floor. "This is a gravity platform. You can open it from here."

He aimed the sonic at it, and a vortex of pulsating blue light appeared. Mr. Lux and Anita approached, and the four of them took something that was half-teleport, half-lift down underneath the Library.

* * *

An entire planet to get lost on, with no compass, no frame of reference, and no Doctor. Oh yeah, and those crazy man-eating shadows on the loose. _Well, I suppose if I feel a climate change, I'll know I've wandered too far._

The route to the TARDIS had been cut-and-dry and she had been able to input Miss Evangelista's data into the console within a couple of minutes of leaving the reading room where the Doctor was. But on the way back, a swarm had come upon her, and she'd had to run.

_Run_. It was the word that kept coming across the Doctor's lips when they discussed dealing with the Vashta Nerada. It's how one "deals" – one does not. _Run like hell_, he'd told her, so she had obeyed. But now she was a bit lost. In her haste, she'd managed to forget where she'd gone.

And the night was approaching awfully fast. Another fifteen minutes maximum and she'd be in darkness. She might as well wear a sandwich board that said _fresh meat_. She was wishing she'd taken his advice and stayed in the TARDIS now, not that she'd ever let him know that. But how could she know she'd panic and run mindlessly when faced with the darkness? Normally, she was so much more together than that. She stopped short of admonishing herself – she figured that Miss Evangelista's horrible death must have affected her in ways she'd never realised. She supposed she ought to give herself permission to feel fear. Still, she felt like an idiot for losing her head like that.

But allowing herself to be upset didn't help her find her way, only to stay oddly calm. So far, she had come upon sixteen or seventeen alcoves that look out over the planet, rather Roman in style, much like the one where she and the Doctor had first stopped. She was trying to get an objective perspective of the building she was in, with an alcove every hundred paces or so. After seeing the first six, it occurred to her that she might be moving in circles. So she took four books and stood them up to make an "M" pattern on the floor near the wall before moving on. She never saw that "M" again, therefore, she concluded, she must not be moving in circles – she was, in fact, seeing a different balcony each time, and a new view of the vast planet of books. She wasn't sure how to feel about that, nor how she could use this information to her advantage, but knowing _something_ made her feel a bit less daft.

She came upon an alcove that looked out over a bit of mountainous horizon, and she was drawn to it. Still, as always, it was covered with stacks and shelves of books, but at least it reminded her of something resembling landscape. The sun (which seemed rather artificial to her) was slipping down behind those literary mountains, and she watched as it disappeared. The Library was now bathed in a dim moonlight, but Martha herself stood between two high walls, and was swathed in darkness. She looked behind her, contemplating the way back along the route she had been taking. It was pitch black all the way up the stairs, and a cool shaft of non-committal light waited for her on the landing. Who knew what lurked in those shadows? Her heart began to beat faster. If she walked through that blackness, there was every chance that she would not survive the trek.

She thought about what the Doctor said about how a fear of the dark was far from irrational.

But what was the alternative? She looked over the balcony. Admittedly, the sides of the building showed no shadow, but the drop was hundreds of feet, and for all she knew, the Library didn't have solid ground. She would have to brave the murky deep.

She began to cry a bit, overwhelmed with the moment. She may very well die on a distant planet in the next few minutes, her flesh and blood and muscle totally stripped from her skeleton. The next two minutes could bring death – or the next half-minute, or ten seconds or...

Tears fell, and she took a step forward. She closed her eyes, and concentrated on the Doctor. She believed in him – certainly he had given her ample reason to believe that he could pull her through, and that she could pull herself through. And she believed deep down that a strong faith in something could be enough to act as a lifeline, something to cling to, like a rope in quicksand. Perhaps her faith in him could hold off the Vashta Nerada. Perhaps if she focused on him, she could find the cunning and strength and quickness to escape them.

And if she was going to die, she wanted her last thought to be of him. She wanted to leave this life with his face in her mind, his voice in her head, the ghost of his hands on her body. She concentrated on how he looked this morning when he was inspecting her ankles, then touching her all over as he let himself be drawn deeper and deeper into lust. She wept openly as she walked slowly across the shadows and remembered the last moments of being tied together on the Sontaran cruiser, knowing that he had _almost_ said it... even if it was forced out in a moment of imminent destruction, it was lovely to think of what he nearly expressed to her.

She tried to feel again his protective embrace as she'd felt it when he carried her out of her parents' house, and hear the soft reassurances he'd tried to give her as she cried, like now, from fear and anger. She tried to feel the warm, clean smell of the decontamination shower, and she shivered through her terror as she remembered those moments with him, under the water, lost more and more within each other.

As she neared the halfway point upon the stairs, Martha realised that River Song's rant upon meeting her had suggested that the Doctor would lose Martha at some point, and that her absence would cause a huge rift in his life. Mart wept over this. She could not help but think of her own death at a time like this, and think of the Time Lord, left devastated and alone once more. But River had also said that she knew Martha would not die today. This was reassuring, but as the Doctor had reminded her before she walked away from him the last time, the future was not set in stone. If she made a false move (too late for that), she could change everything. She would die here before getting back to see the Doctor again, she would die before getting to Hervang, and she would never hear what the Doctor needed to tell her.

But as she got closer and closer to that loose pane of pale light at the top of the steps, it became less and less likely that she would be consumed by the Piranhas of the Air.

Nevertheless, she continued to move slowly, and went back to concentrating on the Doctor. His face, his hair, his clothes, his body. His voice, his touch, his walk. His eyes, his mouth, his hands...

As a small smile reached her lips, calming her sobs, a great _whoosh_ enveloped her. In a few split seconds, something overcame her and she was powerless to stop it. Contrary to her wishes, her last thought was to wonder whether she was being swallowed.

* * *

"No, no, you're spoiling everything!" a voice said, as the Doctor, River, Anita and Lux reached the planet's core.

"Is that a child?" asked River.

"Stop it! Go back! You're going to ruin the game! Go away!" the voice cried. It was the same voice again, and it sounded like a little girl.

The Doctor seemed to ignore it, and went straight for a comm unit. "The computer's gone into sleep mode," he said. "I can't wake it up." He pressed a myriad of buttons as River took her place to watch over his shoulder.

"Doctor, these readings..."

"I know, you'd think it was," he paused. "Dreaming?"

"It is dreaming," Mr. Lux said. He was still standing in the corridor through which they had entered. "Of a normal life, of a lovely dad and of every book ever written." He opened a large mesh cabinet nearby.

"Computers don't dream," Anita reasoned through her darkened visor.

"Please go away," the voice begged. "You're spoiling it. Please go."

"No," Lux agreed with Anita. "But little girls do." He threw a switch inside the cabinet, which opened a door, and he rushed through it, with the other three in tow. The switch had also taken the computer out of sleep mode and brought the consciousness of the computer home to them.

They were witness to the slow turn of another startlingly real statue. This one had the face of a young girl, the child they had seen appear upon the comm unit up in the reading room. But this statue was different because it seemed that a million wires and attachments fed into her white, sterile, shapeless body, and it was clear that she was the "face" of the Library's hard drive.

"Please go away," she begged.

"This is Cal," Lux said.

"Cal is a child?" the Doctor demanded. "A child hooked up to a mainframe! Why didn't you tell me this? I needed to know this!"

"Because she's family!" Lux yelled back. His face and demeanour were brimming with emotion, as though a dam had finally broken. He explained that Cal, Charlotte Abigail Lux, was an aunt of his who had had a terminal illness as a child, so her father had created a virtual reality in the form of this planet, this Library, and put her living mind inside.

"And then the shadows came," the Doctor mused.

"I have to save... I have to..." Charlotte was saying. Lux stroked her cheek and wept.

"She saved them," the Doctor said.

"So what do we do to get them back?" asked River.

"Easy!" the Doctor said. "Cut and paste!"

He dashed to the complex grid of buttons and dials and lights behind the Charlotte statue. She turned her head to face him, to see what he was doing.

"Doctor," she said. "Why won't you go away?"

"Because, Charlotte," he said, searching for a port of some kind. "I'm trying to bring back four thousand people who are bouncing around in your mind."

"But I like them," she told him. "They're my friends. I saved them from the shadows."

"I know you did," he said, turning to her. "That was very brave. But we need them out here. They have lives to get back to, people waiting for them. They have families and friends and jobs and schools..."

"And Doctors," Charlotte interrupted.

"Pardon me?"

"Families and friends and Doctors, waiting to take them away from me," she said sadly.

He squinted at her. "Do you know something? Where is Martha?"

"The shadows closed in," Charlotte told him. "She is saved."

He touched her forehead gently. She looked up at his fingers rather comically as he asked, "Martha Jones is in there?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Is she a perfect copy, or did you..." he choked on his words. He gritted his teeth. "Or did you have to extract her DNA as partial data?"

"She is intact," Charlotte answered. "She is uncorrupted. Dr. Moon saw to that."

"Charlotte," he said, taking his hands from her face. "I need her back. Can you understand that? I haven't got anyone else to look after me. She's my best friend, Charlotte, my companion. I love her."

"I love her too."

"That's good," the Doctor said with a warm smile. He liked children, he really did. "You're a very nice computer. The nicest I've ever met, as a matter of fact. That's why I know you'll see it my way. Every person in the universe who lost a loved one in the Library feels the way I do. I know that you don't want to see them suffer. I know that you will allow me to do the right thing."

"But it will be so lonely," she complained. "I'll just have my dad and Dr. Moon..."

"Doctor, isn't there anything you can do?" Mr. Lux asked. "Don't just leave her alone in there."

The Doctor sighed and glared both at little Charlotte and her incongruously middle-aged nephew. Without a word, he plugged the sonic screwdriver into a port in the power frame.

"New hardware detected," Charlotte said. "Incompatible. Please wait."

Charlotte seemed to close her eyes. The Doctor and Lux waited.

"Traces of compatible data. Assimilating new hardware." Within ten seconds, a cursor appeared on a nearby comm screen. Then she said, "Okay Doctor, I'm ready for a command."

"That's a good girl," he said.

"What's happening?" Lux asked.

"I used Miss Evangelista's data ghost to make Cal compatible with the machinery at the heart of my ship," he told Mr. Lux. Then he smiled delightedly and raised his voice. "The heart of the TARDIS brings life! All it needs is data! Ha!"

* * *

Martha Jones was performing open-heart surgery upon a patient with whom she had consulted only a few days before. It was one of those weird things in the life of a surgeon – one day you could barely look at a person while you take down everything they say and concentrate on the colour of their throat and on charts and x-rays. The next, you could be staring at their functioning organs, literally watching the blood pump through their system and look at a clot that would be likely to kill them.

"Could I get some suction, please?" she asked. Immediately, a tall male nurse leaned forward and siphoned off some excess liquid from the wound.

And then a bright light took her over, and the sensation of being swallowed, then shot out of a canon. She screamed as she was ripped from the operating room, and everything, and everyone around her disappeared.

Suddenly, she found herself standing on the side of a swimming pool. As she looked about, at least fifty people were in the room with her, none of them dressed for swimming, and all of them equally confused.

She closed her eyes and took her head in her hands. Some kind of serious displacement had occurred, and she found that she now had dual memories, but had no trouble deciding which set was real.

She had been a heart surgeon at her old stomping grounds, Royal Hope Hosptial. She had a flatmate named Rita, and a boyfriend named Peter, who was a computer programmer. They had discussed marriage, but had decided that for now, life was too crazy for that, and until she was fully established in her career...

"Whoa," she mused. "What the hell?"

That was all very nice, but the product of some insane vision. She was happy to know that she was still just a medical student, a traveller, and that she still loved her Doctor.

She looked about and laughed. "Where the hell am I?" she asked aloud. Someone nearby said that he didn't know. She left the swimming pool area and found herself in a decidedly more familiar environment. The walls were a marbly orange-brown, and the floors were shiny and matched. "The TARDIS has a swimming pool?" she asked herself.

She pushed her way through the crowd and tried to find some landmark within the TARDIS that would let her know where she was or how to get back to the console room. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of being lost in her own home, she heard the Doctor's voice.

"All right, all right, folks, nothing to see here," he was saying. "Lovely to see you, everyone out! Yes, that's it... this way... no, ma'am, that leads to the butterfly sanctuary, it's the Library you want. It's this way. Lovely, lovely, everyone file out... that way, thank you sir..."

She proceeded forward with the rest of the crowd, and finally saw the Doctor standing in the doorway between the console room and the corridor, ushering people toward the door. They were all confusedly following his directions, and as he made eye contact with her, they both smiled.

"Who are all these people?" she asked as she got near him. "And what are they doing on the TARDIS?"

"Four thousand and twenty-two souls," he told her, smiling widely. "The TARDIS interfaced with the Library's mainframe and brought them back."

"Why did I wind up next to a swimming pool?"

"Well, the TARDIS' console room is big, but it doesn't seat four thousand. There was some overflow."

"And the alternate reality where I was a heart surgeon?"

"That's the file the computer put you in. Gave you a whole world to live in while you bounced around, waiting to be sent someplace."

"Wow. Hey look," she said. "That bloke walking by? He was my boyfriend in the alternate reality. Peter is his name."

"Hmm," the Doctor shrugged. "Neck's too thick."

She smiled.

She stood and waited for everyone to leave. When they were alone in the TARDIS, what followed was a wordless, helpless, unrestrained kiss which brought Martha's feet off the floor.

"Doctor!" they heard from outside. "Doctor, are you in there?" It was River Song's voice travelling through the close wooden walls of the TARDIS. She sounded frightened and desperate.

"Yeah," he said, letting go of Martha reluctantly. They made their way to the ramp. "Come in."

River came through the door with Lux at her side. "Doctor, I'm so sorry..." she panted. Then she stopped in her tracks and looked at Martha quizzically.

Lux was appropriately taken with the size of the TARDIS' interior. But he recovered from the shock surprisingly quickly. He said, also tilting his head at Martha. "Wait a minute. How...?"

"You asked if there was anything I could do. There was. So I did," the Doctor said.

"But... what?" Lux asked.

"Wait, what about the shadows? You just sent all those people out there!" Martha interrupted.

Lux, River and the Doctor looked at each other sadly. "Other Dave and Anita were taken," the Doctor said. "Killed by the shadows. Through the neural relay, I was able to communicate and make a deal with the swarms. They will give us twenty-four hours to vacate the planet before beginning to hunt again."

"Oh God," she sighed. "I'm so sorry, River, Mr. Lux. Is there anything we can do?"

"The Doctor's done it," River said, smiling at him. But there was a sadness in her voice. "He's done what he always does. He's delivered as many as possible."

"So," Martha said, taking his hand. "Miss Evangelista and the rest, they're gone for good?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "They were saved as partial data. The information is corrupted, and cannot be retrieved by any storage device. I tried. Somehow, Charlotte got to _you_ and saved you before the Vashta Nerada could devour you. I'm not sure why, but Miss Evangelista and Proper Dave and Other Dave and Anita, they weren't so lucky."

"Who is Charlotte?" asked Martha.

"The little girl whose mind is wired to the hard drive," the Doctor said.

Martha's eyes went as wide as saucers, and she exclaimed, "Wicked!"

"But that lot," River said, smiling, indicating the four thousand and twenty two people who had just exited the TARDIS. "They're alive and well. The computer saved them as promised, and the data was retrieved intact, and they're all going back to their families. Let's focus on that, shall we?"

"Brilliant plan," the Doctor said.

"I still don't understand," Lux said. "We saw... out there..."

"I saw it too," the Doctor told him.

"Saw what?" asked Martha.

"I'll show you," he said, leading her past their guests and out of the TARDIS.

Outside, the teleport stations all over the Library were bustling with business. People were zapping themselves out of here, and back to their homes, back to their lives.

The Doctor, once again, strode across the dimly lit lobby. "Mr Lux, you asked if there was anything I could do to keep Charlotte from being lonely," the Doctor was saying. "Because, let's face it. Who does a computer have to talk to other than the voices in her hard drive? So, before calling up the original files that she saved, I asked her to tell me who were her favourites."

"Do you mean, like, her favourite people that she saved? The ones she loved most?" Lux asked.

"Yes, exactly," said the Doctor. "And do you remember what I said? Cut and paste?"

"Oh!" River said. "You used copy and paste on Charlotte's favourites!"

"Ah ha!" the Doctor said, spinning around to acknowledge River's conclusion with flourish. "Right you are! She and I made a backup file for copies of her favourites, and then I cut the lot from the hard drive, put them into the TARDIS as a removable drive, via the sonic screwdriver, and the TARDIS expressed the data. And _voilà – _people!"

They all went through a door and down a familiar-looking corridor as they spoke. When they reached a far corner of the hall, they approached one of the statue things. "What are we doing?" asked Martha.

"This was what I said I'd show you," the Doctor said. He addressed the statue. "Tell me, please, what is the state of Cal now?"

The face turned slowly, eerily. Martha gasped. It was her own face! "Cal has been saved," it said, then smiled slightly.

"You're okay with this, right?" asked the Doctor.

Martha made a face as she stared at the semi-lifeless representation of herself. "I suppose so," she said.

"You're making a little girl very happy," the Doctor assured her.

"Then, I guess I'm okay with it."

"Cal has been saved," the statue repeated happily.


	19. Questions and Answers

**Before you start, allow me to answer your question in advance: no, I haven't lost my mind.**

**Just trust me.**

**

* * *

**

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS

Martha Jones was sitting across from her mother and father, and beside her sister. She had chosen the restaurant because she knew it was her mum's favourite, and Leo wouldn't be able to come, ergo, no-one to mock the carved artichokes that Francine liked.

"So," Clive Jones said to his daughter, shovelling a cracker piled with beluga caviar into his mouth. "What was so important?"

"Well," Martha said, blushing, beaming. "Tom really wanted to be here, but he left this morning for Brazzaville. We would have liked to tell you together, but it just wasn't possible."

"Tell us what?" Francine wanted to know.

"We're engaged!" Martha announced, flashing her diamond ring.

Tish beamed along with Martha. She had been privy to the information for twenty-four hours, and had managed to keep it a secret. Not without quite a bit of effort, either!

"Oh, congratulations, sweetheart!" Martha's father exclaimed, standing up from the booth to hug her. "What a lucky, lucky bloke Tom is!"

"Clive, sit down," Francine spat. "Are you mad?"

Clive looked at Francine with a mixture of exasperation and surprise. He sat back down and said, "Are you really going to do this now?" he asked his wife.

"Just tell me," Francine asked her daughter bluntly. "Are you pregnant?"

"What? No! What would make you think that?"

"Well, this whole thing just reeks of _shotgun wedding_," Francine hissed. "Two months, you've known this man, Martha. That's eight weeks. Sixty days. You can't even grow sea monkeys in that amount of time. You don't know anything about him – you couldn't!"

"I know that he's kind and brave," Martha said calmly. "He gave his life to save me."

"In an alternate reality where a megalomaniac alien ran the Earth and the entire surface of the planet was patrolled by flying spheres that attack people with knives," Francine offered back, a little too loudly. "That's hardly concrete proof that the man is a superhero."

"Mum!" Martha scolded. "Shhh!"

"Well, it's true," she said, a little quieter. "In _this_ life, what do you know?"

"He's a paediatrician!" Martha exclaimed. "He's gone to the Congo to help Rwandan refugee children who have been stricken with malaria!"

"With a lily-white organisation that takes its money from private funds and its orders from privileged fat cats."

"Good God, mum," Tish said, trying to help. "What have _you_ done to help the refugees lately? Cut the man some slack – _he's in Africa __**volunteering **__to treat children. _Only you could find fault in that! What do you want, proof that he's been to the moon?"

This comment hit Martha like a punch to the stomach. She pulled her mind away from the impact, the memories, the images that threatened to work their way to the surface. She never allowed herself to go there anymore. She had moved on. She had a fiancé now.

"Who are his mum and dad?" Francine wanted to know.

"Elaine and Patrick Milligan," Martha answered, shrugging. "What difference does _that _make?"

"Well, are they a good family?"

"They brought up Tom, that's good enough for me."

"What do they do for a living?"

"Don't know, don't care."

"Does the mother work?"

"No idea."

"Are they Irish?"

"I reckon so. Patrick Milligan isn't going to be Japanese, now, is he?"

"Martha, stop it. I'm just trying to find out more! You've just told us you're getting married to a man you haven't known since Christmas! It's worrying, that's all."

"Well, then, why can't you ask questions like, _what's his favourite cereal_, or _does he collect Russian bud vases_? If you want to know more, then ask me about _Tom_, mum, stuff that matters! Don't pick my brain just to find out whether you can tell your friends about his family without losing your social status."

As soon as it was out of her mouth, she knew she had gone too far. Immediately, Martha regretted implying that her mum was only interested in Tom's family's rung on the social ladder. It was an insult to Francine as a person and as a mother.

And Francine's eyes betrayed her. She was very, very hurt. In fact, there were tears that she was visibly trying to contain.

"Martha," Clive said. "I think you should apologise, please."

She nodded. "I'm sorry, mum," she said. "I didn't mean that. I just don't understand why you need to know that stuff. Tom is a good man – isn't that enough?"

"Sometimes," Francine said, stoically. "Sometimes not. Sometimes good men come with baggage, Martha. Or did you miss the last year of our lives?"

"Okay, okay, let's talk about something else," Clive said. "Martha's just announced a happy event, and we owe her at least one family meal without anyone walking out in a snit, eh?"

But Francine and Martha weren't going to play. The mother was still stung by the daughter's implication that she was more interested in social status than the family's well-being, and the daughter was still stung by the implication that the Doctor was responsible for all of their troubles of late. They both sat with their arms crossed over their chests, staring into their salads.

"So, is Tom a cat person, or a dog person?" asked Clive.

Grudgingly, pushing her salad around with her fork, Martha muttered, "Dog."

"Is he a rugby guy or a football guy?" he asked. "Maybe we could do a match together sometime."

"I'm not sure."

"Does he drink coffee or tea?"

"Tea."

"Left-leaning or right-leaning?"

"Centre."

"Boxers or briefs?" Tish chimed in with a wry smile.

Martha understood that Tish was trying to add humour to lighten the mood, but it was too late. Her mood had darkened beyond the point of no return. _Blimey, why can't this family just roll with what comes?_

"Excuse me," Martha said, grabbing her handbag. Tish made to push herself up, but Martha said, not uncertainly, "Don't follow me."

"Okay," Tish said, a bit hurt, a bit worried.

Martha crossed the restaurant on four-inch heels and headed for the ladies'. Anyone in the room who was looking could see that she was angry – her walk betrayed everything.

But not just anyone could see something following her, a presence eating away at the energy in Martha's wake, the air displaced around her.

She burst through the door of the ladies' room and held her breath, pushing her back against the door. An almighty sob was welling in her chest, but she would not give her mother the satisfaction of coming back to the table with puffy eyes and her makeup running. She squeezed her palms together and took great gulps of air, swallowing her emotion.

_I won't cry, I won't cry, I won't cry..._

She had almost forgotten she was in a public place when one of the toilets flushed. She forced herself to walk over to the counter and make a show of adjusting her lipstick so it wouldn't seem that she was hiding in the loo.

By the time the woman emerged from the toilet cubicle, Martha was ready with her lip liner and gloss. She smiled politely as the woman began to wash her hands.

"Hi," the woman said casually.

"Hi," Martha answered.

"You know, I have that same shade of gloss."

"Really?" Martha asked. She found it odd. It was a purplish-brown shimmer gloss, perfect for her caffè lattè complexion and dark hair. This woman was pale and blonde.

"Mm-hm," she affirmed. "I mean... I look like a tart when I wear it, not like you. But yeah, I own it."

Martha smiled.

The woman crossed to the hand-towel dispenser and took her time drying her hands. "I saw you with your family out there. Looks like you're celebrating something. I saw that you had champagne brought over earlier."

"Erm, yeah," Martha said, taken aback. She began putting her personal effects back into her bag.

"Sorry – I notice things. I'm not trying to pry," the woman said, smiling shyly. "Sometimes I forget that _normal_ people find that creepy."

"No, no," Martha assured her. "Not creepy. I was just surprised. Actually, I was announcing my engagement, and my mum was less than happy for me." She had to take a deep breath to keep from crying.

"Oh," the woman said sympathetically. "I'm sorry to hear that. That man you're sitting with at the table, is he your fiancé?"

"No, that's my dad," Martha chuckled.

"Well, where's your fiancé? Shouldn't you be announcing something like that together?"

"He's in Africa, actually," Martha said, her cheeks growing plump with the smile on her face. "He's a paediatrician who's working on the malaria problem among the refugees in the Congo."

"You've got a doctor who flies around to exotic locales," the woman said, quite seriously. "You'll want to watch out for that."

That old punch-in-the-stomach was back. "Yeah."

"I just mean," the woman said, seeming to recover. "A bloke like that, clever, well-travelled, philanthropic... he's bound to have women coming on to him left and right. Just keep an eye, that's all."

This wasn't helping. Still, Martha didn't want to offend her. "Good advice. Thanks."

"When's the big day?"

"Don't know yet," Martha told her. "We've still got loads to discuss."

"Well, good luck, Martha," the woman said, extending her hand. "Maybe I'll see you again sometime."

Martha shook her hand and watched her leave the restroom.

Several things about the end of this encounter were odd. First of all, the woman had grown suddenly distracted, distant, as though she were looking at something over Martha's shoulder. In addition, Martha didn't see her anywhere in the dining area or the bar, and lastly, she was fairly certain she hadn't told the woman her name.

* * *

Lunch had been brutally nice, with the Jones family behaving necessarily politely for Martha's sake during the rest of the meal. They toasted the "happy" news without acknowledging what had happened previously, and without addressing any further Francine's questions or her and Martha's affronts toward one another. They all knew it would come up again sooner or later, but everyone had agreed that today was not the day.

And so, late that night, after covering half an evening shift for a fellow doctor who had gone home with stomach cramps, Martha stood in the kitchen of her new flat wearing penguin pyjamas, waiting for her Lobster-Tomato bisque leftover from lunch to finish warming in the microwave.

The phone rang before the microwave did, and Martha spoke with her new fiancé for about fifteen minutes while she extracted, then ate, her soup. The flight had been smooth until crossing the equator, then the weather had become a bit rough. It was raining cats and dogs in the jungle, and his first night would be spent in a canvas tent with five other doctors and nurses and a rifle at his side. He couldn't wait to see her again, and agreed that when he returned to England, four months from now, they would begin wedding plans in earnest.

"I miss you already," Tom told her.

"I miss you too," Martha said.

"Don't worry," he reassured her. "Four months will go by before you know it."

"Promise?" she asked.

"Absolutely," he whispered.

When they hung up, they exchanged _I love you_ and _Counting the days_. He was her fiancé. She had said she would marry him. She was wearing his ring. Of course she would say she loves him.

She closed her phone and set it down on the table. She stared at it. "I love you," she said aloud, to no-one in particular. And to her surprise, it felt empty, as though she were speaking to a brick wall. Tom Milligan was in Africa, but she'd heard his voice, he'd been there this morning, they had kissed when he left, and she had written him a note and put it in his bag... but right now, he might as well be on another planet.

"I love you," she said again. And this time, she found that the gesture compelled her. She picked up the phone once more, and opened it. There was a number that her fingers were poised to dial, a voice she wanted to hear, a set of memories she'd like to keep in a little box somewhere...

But what would she say? Would she tell him she'd pursued Dr. Thomas Milligan beginning the day after she left the TARDIS? Would he think less of her if she confessed that she'd had sex with him after knowing him only three days? Would he calculate in his head that she'd known Tom all of eight weeks? Would she have the courage to announce that they'd decided to get engaged two days before he left on a four-month trip to Africa? Would he notice that by the time Tom gets back, he'll have spent twice as much time _away _from her as he'd spent with her?

Would he see through it all? Would he spot Martha kidding herself? Would he see the engagement as a desperate way for two people to cling to each other for all the wrong reasons?

She knew the answers to all of those questions. She turned her phone off and went to bed. Alone.


	20. Looking Back

LOOKING BACK

Martha cherished her rituals these days. After two years of total unpredictability and running for her life, she liked being able to say things such as, "I leave the house at seven," when people asked. Small pleasures gave her great joy, not the least of which was her daily morning trek across town to UNIT headquarters. No family, no fiancé, no aliens (yet) – it was precious time to think and be left alone. Not that she had become anti-social, but since coming home from her cross-world trek, she had been reminded of the domestic chaos that had sent her running screaming into the TARDIS in the first place.

She always walked to the end of her block to the little coffee shop, ordered something caffeinated (and once a week, allowed herself something sugary and loaded with carbs), then took the Tube to Tower Hill station. She would finish her coffee or tea in the underground tunnel before going through the secret entrance that led to the base below the Tower of London. She turned the knob to the door marked "Electrical," every morning between 7:43 and 7:47, and would arrive at her work station just before eight.

One week after the semi-disastrous family luncheon, Martha entered her usual local coffee shop and got a bit of a surprise. She _never _socialised on her morning route – who the hell would talk to her?

"Oh, hello," the voice said. She was the woman Martha had met in the restaurant loo when she'd stepped away from her parents.

"Hi!" Martha said, taken off-guard. "We've met before, eh?"

"Martha, isn't it?" the woman asked, though it seemed to Martha that her question was a bit affected.

"Yeah," she said. "What was your name?"

"How're you doing? You're looking good. How's things? What've you been up to?" asked he blonde distractedly. She was looking over Martha's shoulder again.

"Sorry, are you all right?" Martha asked her.

"What do you mean?"

"You're looking over my shoulder," Martha said. She turned to see if there was someone behind her, perhaps, that the blonde was signalling. The last two years had taught her to be paranoid. But there was no-one. "You did that before."

"I'm fine. I'm sorry," the woman assured her, having realised her error. "Haven't been sleeping well is all."

"You know what?" Martha said, realising something a lot. "You're not the only one. People do that a lot."

"What sort of people?" Her mysterious friend was suddenly quite serious.

"Strangers, friends... I've got this one friend, Micah. He's a bit weird, but he keeps doing the same thing you are. It's like he's staring _at _something. But when I look back there, or touch my shoulders, there's nothing." Martha tried to seem confused and nonchalant, but secretly, she knew that this blonde was up to something. She hoped the association with Micah was just a coincidence, or a symptom of Micah's bizarre quality of semi-clairvoyance.

"So," the blonde said, falling in line with Martha. "Where are you off to today?"

"Work," Martha said flatly. She couldn't exactly tell a stranger what she did for a living. But the woman seemed to want more – her eyes were searching, and it made Martha very uncomfortable. "Er, I'm a doctor for an agency that sort of... er, checks up on things. Ethics committees, alien rights, that sort of thing. Today, I'll probably get shipped off to Glasgow for a couple of weeks on assignment."

"I think you should stay at work today," the woman said, picking lint off her jacket rather nervously.

"What?" asked Martha. She made no pretence at being open-minded or sympathetic.

"You know, let someone else go to Glasgow on that assignment. Your agency must have other doctors – one of them could do it," she said. She shrugged. "I dunno, London is nicer."

Martha cocked her head to one side, and tried to smile. "I'm sorry, but what business is it of yours?"

"The agency is going to need you today, Martha," the woman said, staring into Martha's eyes. "They will need some information that only you can provide. They won't even know it – you'll have to step forward. But you can only do that if you stay in London." Her last few words were spoken with an eerie prescience.

"Oi, the queue is moving, ladies, keep up!" a voice said. The man in line behind Martha was growing impatient. Martha advanced forward, muttering a _sorry_ under her breath, and the blonde woman stepped out of line.

"Let Dr. McGrath go to Glasgow. Please," the blonde begged her, again, with an eerie knowing.

"How do you know Dr. McGrath? Are you a spy?" Martha asked, managing to remain calm. "Why won't you tell me your name?" Martha asked.

"You could always tell it to me, sweetheart," the man behind Martha said, winking at the blonde.

"I'm not trying to harm you, Martha Jones," she said, ignoring the man. "But take my advice, or the world will choke."

"Leave me alone," Martha snapped, turning away from her. Just then, the girl at the counter called her up, and she stepped forward to order her tea. When she turned her head to look at the blonde, she was completely gone.

* * *

She arrived at her work station, as always, just before eight. Her area consisted of a chest-high work table with a stool, six file drawers, four plastic storage containers for various medical instruments, and two radiological lamps on the wall for viewing x-rays. Hers was on the end of a row of four identical stations, distinguishable only by the pictures of family members and various cartoons taped to the flat surfaces. Four doctors worked here, though hardly anyone ever sat there for longer than a few minutes at a time. UNIT doctors were always half-soldier, half-doctor.

Martha looked through the file waiting for her at her station. Seventeen very odd skeletons had been found in a mass grave beneath a building site in Glasgow. The skeletons shared some characteristics with modern human skeletons, but some of them had malformed ribcages, some were missing the spinal column. Two of them seemed to have triceratops-like brow ridges, and a few of them had phalanges that were four inches in diameter and capped-off with a razor-sharp point. The construction crew had called the police, who had brought in Scotland Yard, who had brought in a forensic anthropology team from the British Museum. When said team had determined that the bones were not human, but _humanoid_, UNIT had been called. Thus bringing Dr. Martha Jones into the case.

"Morning," Dr. Andrew McGrath said as he bounded in. He had a file waiting at his station as well. He picked it up. "Oh, what's this then?"

"Morning," Martha answered. She wanted to ask him if he knew the woman she had now met twice who seemed to know Martha's name and Dr. McGrath's, but she couldn't think of how to ask him. The woman had blonde hair and a wide mouth – that's all she could think of, as far as describing her. London was brimming with pretty blondes, and more than likely, Andrew knew one or two of them.

"Are you still going to Glasgow today?" he asked.

"Not confirmed, but probably," she said.

"Oh, I'd love to get on that case," he said. "I was going to specialise in orthopaedics before joining UNIT. Love bones."

"Well, what've you got there?" she asked, gesturing toward the file in his hand.

He opened it. "Looks like yesterday morning at about five, our time, fifty-two deaths, right across the world, in identical circumstances. All at the same moment, in eleven different time zones."

"Interesting," Martha said.

"Not to me," he told her, sitting down with a sigh. "They all died in their cars. It all sounds quite James Bond to me, hardly a job for UNIT."

"Well, one never knows," Martha said. "Can I have a look?"

"Sure," he said, handing over his file. He put his hand on her Glasgow file and asked, "Do you mind?" She shook her head.

She read the preliminary report from the field offices in the affected cities. Same story everywhere. "This is weird. Is there a pathology report? From the autopsies, I mean?"

"I don't know," he said, not looking up. "Only just found out about this myself."

She flipped to the cover sheet. It indicated that the pathology reports were still being gathered from the various locations around the world, and that Dr. McGrath could be expected to find them in his e-mail if he checked throughout the day.

Andrew pulled some x-rays from the Glasgow file and put them up to the light. "Oh, this is gorgeous," he said. "Look at that ribcage. This looks like a six-foot-four-inch, three-hundred-pound male wrestler was made to wear a corset all of his life!"

"Maybe he chose to," Martha said off-handedly, still examining the car deaths. "Hm, all of the cars have Atmos."

"I expect that means I'll be charging into the Atmos factory along with them," Andrew sighed. "Blimey, I hope I can convince them to wait until I get all of the pathology back before they start cracking skulls up there."

"Wait, wasn't UNIT involved in quality-assurance checking with Atmos? I mean, that was before my time, but I think I remember hearing..."

"Yeah," Andrew said. "We checked them out before they went on the market."

"Why?"

"Because," he told her. "That device can reduce carbon monoxide emissions to zero."

"And the powers that be thought it was odd?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "They physics department was all up-in-arms because you can't destroy matter and all that... Agent Markham was practically foaming at the mouth over it, but the chem team found nothing untoward, so we gave them the green light."

"Good morning, doctors," a voice said from the doorway. He stopped and saluted.

"Morning Colonel Mace," Andrew said. Doctors of UNIT were not required to salute. "You're looking dapper this fine morning."

"Yes, well," said the Colonel. "Dr. Jones, if you'd report to the equipment department, you'll be fitted with a HazMat suit, just in case there's any radiation coming from that pit in Glasgow. You and Agent Oliver will be leaving by chopper at fourteen hundred today."

"Gotcha," she said.

"And Dr. McGrath, I trust you received the Atmos file today," Mace said.

"Yes sir," Andrew said, and gestured for Martha to give it back. She obliged.

"The pathology reports have come in," the Colonel reported. "At least half of them. Go ahead and log in to your e-mail."

Andrew took his iPhone from his pocket and accessed his UNIT correspondence. "Hm," he said. "That's weird. There's no toxins found in any of the bodies."

"What?" Martha asked, having temporarily forgotten she'd been ordered to report to equipment. She looked over his shoulder at the tiny writing and pulled his hand closer to her eyes, so that she could read.

"You know what?" Andrew said. "How about I just have it printed, eh?"

He left the room for a few moments, and when he returned, he had a hard copy of the pathology reports from various autopsies all over the world, from deaths that all occurred at once.

"All finding the same thing," Andrew said. "_Nada_."

"Really nothing?" asked Mace.

"Traces of alcohol here or there, but nothing consistent," Martha said, taking a few pages from Andrew. "Nothing associated with auto emissions, anyway."

Colonel Mace sighed heavily. "Well, then. Dr. McGrath, I think that your first order of business is to try and find _any_ link you can, no matter how small, in the pathology reports. I'll get Agent Krentz to reinstate Operation Blue Sky immediately."

Andrew groaned. "Oh, not that again, sir!"

"Yes, that," the Colonel said. "We have suspicious, possibly alien occurrences, fifty-two human deaths and a team of highly trained doctors, engineers and scientists who have found absolutely nothing. We need to think outside the box. Operation Blue Sky is our only hope now."

"But it doesn't work, sir," Andrew protested. "Can't we just scour the databases, put a team on the files..."

"Dr. McGrath," he said. "You have been given a task. Please carry it out. Let me worry about the details. Dr. Jones, are you not supposed to be in a HazMat suit right about now?"

"I want to be in a HazMat suit," pouted Andrew.

"What?" asked Mace.

"Oh, he's just bitter because he's a bone specialist and I'm the one who gets to go digging for them in Glasgow," she said. "Sir, if you don't mind my asking, what is Operation Blue Sky?"

"It's a blooming great waste of time, is what it is," Andrew interjected. "You're never gonna find him, not unless he wants to be found."

"Dr. McGrath, that'll do," Mace said. He turned back to Martha and began escorting her from the room. "There was... we'll call him an _operative_ who worked for UNIT back in the 1970's. He was an expert in... well, everything. Biology, geology, chemistry, technology, history, both terrestrial and extraterrestrial. In fact, he was extraterrestrial himself."

At this, Martha's eyebrows went up.

"We need him now," Mace mused, making his way slowly down the hall alongside Martha. "Otherwise, I'm afraid more are going to die as a result of this Atmos business. Operation Blue Sky is our effort to find him and bring him back into the fold. But he's a difficult man to track down, I'm afraid. The last three times we have implemented the Operation, it has failed. As Dr. McGrath says, unless he wants to be found, I'm fairly certain our efforts are fruitless. But one must try."

Colonel Mace seemed wistful, as though hope and effort had left him. He seemed to recover himself rather awkwardly, then he put his hand on Martha's shoulder, and said, "Anyway, HazMat." He began to walk away.

"Colonel Mace?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"What is this _operative's_ name?" she asked.

"The Doctor," he said. "All he has ever called himself is _the Doctor._"

"Erm," she said, walking toward him. "Why don't you send Andrew to get fitted for a HazMat suit, and let me head up Operation Blue Sky?"

"Pardon?"

"Andrew is a bone guy," she reasoned. "He _wants _to go to Glasgow. Let me find the Doctor for you, and I'll take over the medical side of the Atmos case once he's here."

"_You _are going to find the Doctor?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I've got his phone number."

"Dr. Jones, that's like saying you know Bigfoot's address."

"How do you know I don't have that too?" She sighed. "Just let me try. Tell Andrew to pack his bags."

Nonplussed, Colonel Mace decided to take her advice. He announced, much to McGrath's delight, that he'd be working on the weird bones in Glasgow, and that Martha would be taking the Atmos case. As Andrew bolted out the door toward the equipment department for his HazMat suit, Martha lingered in their work area.

She took her battle fatigues from her bottom drawer and slowly, carefully, pensively pulled them on over her clothes, then wandered down to the field ops prep room to try and convince them not to charge into the Atmos factory until the Doctor arrived.

They didn't want to listen; Colonel Mace had given orders, and the battalion was moving out in twenty minutes. That meant Martha was going with them. She'd have to wait until they arrived there before calling the Doctor. Just as well – she wasn't ready anyway.

She had asked herself a hundred questions last week when she'd almost phoned him. She wondered how he'd react to her relationship with Tom, whether he'd be happy for her or upset that she'd moved on with her life; part of her hoped for the latter. She felt a surge of excitement at the thought of seeing him again, and not just seeing him, but investigating aliens with him. She burned to be at his side again, to run with him, assist him, watch him work...

But she chided herself for those feelings. She had walked away for precisely this reason. Her romantic leanings toward the Doctor were becoming a distraction to both of them, and she would _never_ have him that way. She reminded herself that she was phoning him now, asking him to investigate an atmospheric emissions filter, not to rekindle their... whatever they had. This was the most unromantic setting she could think of, and that was good, because this was _not_ an opportunity to fire both barrels at him – this was in the interest of humanity's well-being.

Later, as she left UNIT and said goodbye to Andrew, wishing him luck in Glasgow, she briefly realised that without even knowing, she had taken the blonde's advice. And then something distracted her, and she found herself flitting about inside the UNIT trailer as it moved across England.

* * *

As promised, she'd been able easily to find the Doctor and he had come to Earth to see her without even asking why. He was just as she remembered him – tall, handsome, brilliant, a bit mad. Though there was one marked difference in the Doctor's life: Donna Noble. His newest companion seemed to be doing him good. He was not a man who should be often left to his own devices.

And as is common in life with the Doctor, adventures ensued. As it turned out, Atmos _was _an alien invention. Martha was taken prisoner and cloned, and kept unconscious in a warehouse while her look-alike worked to further the stratagem of the Sontaran fleet hovering above. But the Doctor saved her, and the Earth, and converted an evil teen-aged genius into a stand-up guy who did something clever with his life.

After that, the TARDIS kidnapped her and took them all to the planet Messaline, where a machine disgorged the Doctor's "daughter," and Martha got separated from the Doctor and Donna. She was befriended by a Hath, and then watched him die in a black pit of weird quick-sand-like liquid. Then she had said goodbye to the Doctor, been dropped back off on Earth in her own time and place, and had stumbled back into her flat, utterly exhausted. She was fairly well convinced that she could not live that life anymore.

But all the while, the Doctor had been looking past her. At first, she simply told herself that he didn't see her; it was the same old non-existence that she'd been used to occupying ever since meeting him. But after a bit, she realised that this was different. He was looking over her shoulder at something, just the way the blonde did. And when she asked him about it, he dismissed her and turned his attention back to whatever threat was pending at the moment. She never had a chance to mention the blonde she'd met, nor her friend Micah, nor the synchronicity that had brought her back into the Doctor's life.

He seemed to ignore the problem, but in his eyes, there was a disturbance, like a storm gathering. It would flit away just as quickly as it came, but it was there. He knew something wasn't right about her.

* * *

For weeks, nothing much happened at UNIT. The Glasgow case went on for two months, and she found that she missed Andrew around the office, while he was cataloguing alien remains. She performed physicals on staff members, did a few alien autopsies, and more disturbingly, a few human ones. She re-attached limbs to soldiers who had been wounded by laser guns, and delivered a baby Snarfblatt down in the containment cells in the bottom level of headquarters.

Life was the same every day. She counted the days until Tom was to return from Africa, and spent evenings with her sister or her mum, looking at bridal books, making plans without him. The one thing that changed was her morning routine. She now took a different route to work, and had ceased frequenting the coffee shop on the corner.

Three weeks on, while she was trying to decide between coffee and tea at her new morning haunt, her mobile phone rang.

"Hi, Micah," Martha said. He was the last person she had wanted to talk to, ever since her odd adventures with the taciturn Doctor.

"Martha, love," he said. "It's been ages."

"I know, I'm sorry," she sighed. "What're you up to?"

"Oh, nothing," he said, exaggeratedly. "Only my first art showing!"

"Well, that's fantastic, Micah! Congratulations!"

"Thank you," he said. "And I have two extra tickets, and I'd like you to be one of my guests."

She thought about it as quickly as she could. Was there a way that she could beg off this engagement without hurting his feelings, or alerting him that she wanted to avoid his company?

"I'd be honoured," she told him. "When?"

"Friday night at seven. They're sending a limo for me - we'll come collect you from your flat," he said. "And you can meet Alicia."

"Who is Alicia?"

"My new girlfriend," Micah answered.

"Girlfriend, eh? So the pendulum has swung back the other way, then?"

"As long as it's swingin', that's what I always say," Micah laughed.

"What happened to Evan?" she wanted to know.

"Caught him shagging one of the cleaning staff," he said, disgustedly.

"And you never cheated on him?" Martha asked, laughing. She was _surprised_ to be laughing, actually.

"Not with the cleaning staff! I mean, please!"

"Whatever, mate. See you Friday at seven."

By the time Friday came, it had been a hell of a week. Her parents had left town unexpectedly, Tish had been sick with flu and Leo worked nights. Tom had been out-of-range for three whole days, and she was going mad. The only beings she had spoken to in seventy-two hours were Colonel Mace and others trying to tie up loose ends with the Sontaran debacle, and the people who served her coffee. She had decided that she could use a pick-me-up, and was glad that she had accepted Micah's invitation, no matter how badly she didn't want to see him.

So she'd trotted out her Sunday best: an emerald green satin cocktail dress. It had a halter top that exposed her back and tied behind her neck, and matching dyed sandals for her painted feet.

"Oh, Dr. Jones, be still my heart!" Micah exclaimed as he helped Martha into the limousine. "You are gorgeous, my girl."

"Thank you," she smiled. "You too. Nice ruffles, Captain Blackbeard."

Micah tousled the ruffles at his lapels with flourish, then said, "Green is very much your colour, I say. Martha Jones, please meet Alicia Esposito, my new gal pal."

Martha put out her hand, and an attractive, dark-haired girl sitting next to Micah shook it. "Very nice to meet, you Alicia. So, how did you and Micah first meet?"

Alicia stared at her blankly and then turned to Micah, looking askance. Micah said, _"Quiere saber como tu me encuentraste."_

Alicia smiled, and nodded. She spoke for the next thirty seconds, very animatedly, in Spanish, and Martha caught about half. Micah laughed nervously. "She doesn't speak any English," he said. "But we manage. She told the story of how we met at a restaurant in Budapest, and how I'd forgotten my wallet..."

"I got that part," Martha smiled. To Alicia, she said, "It's funny." Alicia seemed to understand, and nodded along.

In ten minutes, they arrived in Soho in front of a small art gallery. The chauffeur put his hand inside the vehicle and helped Alicia exit first. Then Martha, and then Micah. A high-strung, very short American woman with thick-framed glasses came bounding down the set of stairs in front of the gallery.

"Oh my God, Micah, it's like a zoo in there," she said. "Do you have your press statement?"

"Martha, this is Paulette Razani, my agent," Micah said.

"Oh my God, Micah, we _so _do not have time for that," Paulette snapped. "Later, laters, okay? Now _do you have your press statement or not?_"

He patted his pocket.

"Do you have your lipgloss for the photographers?"

He answered by pursing his lips.

"And I see you've got your eye-candy," she said, eyeing Martha and Alicia. "Which one is currently playing the part of your 'gal-pal?'"

Micah grabbed Alicia by the arm, and pulled her close.

"Good, girl A is the beard," Paulette said. "Girl B, you're with me. We have to let them make a grand entrance, okey-dokey?"

"Sure," Martha said.

"Just stay at my side," Paulette told her, taking her arm and leading her up the stairs.

"_Dios mio_," Martha heard uttered from behind her. She knew that that meant _my God_, in Alicia's native Spanish, and the tone of her voice made Martha turn.

"What?" Martha asked. "Alicia, what is it?"

Alicia had a horrified look on her face. She was pointing at Martha. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out for quite a while.

"_Alicia, qué no va?"_ asked Micah. He tried tugging her along, but she was to frightened to move.

"Micah, we don't have time for this," Paulette said, literally stomping her foot on the bottom step. "Get her under control. Tell her what an important night this is!"

"Shut up, Paulette," Micah said. "_Alicia, hablame. Cual es el problemmo?"_

Alicia took a meaningful step forward and took Martha's hand gently. "_Tienes algo en tu espalda."_

Micah took in a quick breath at these words, and Martha looked at him, just to make sure she had understood correctly. Micah caught her eye, and said, "I knew it. You have something on your back."

Martha's heart began to beat faster and faster and faster, but she couldn't take her eyes off Alicia. Eventually, Alicia repeated, "_Tienes algo en tu espalda."_ She was whispering now, tears were in her eyes, and she was shaking like a leaf. _"Es un escarabajo. Es gigante. Ten miedo."_

Martha turned and began walking swiftly down the street, away from Micah and his odd friends.

"Martha! Where are you going?" Micah called after her. "What about the art show?"

She ignored him and kept walking. Her worst fear about seeing Micah had come to pass, though not quite as she had expected. But was still glad she had come tonight. He had been looking over her shoulder for weeks, but tonight, someone had finally said the words to her, albeit, in another language.

_You have something on your back._

Now it was laid bare, her wounds could be tended to. Now if only she could find out what it was. Alicia had said, she was reasonably sure, that it was a beetle – either that or a pencil sharpener. She discarded going to work – if no-one at UNIT had noticed by now, it was unlikely that anyone would, or would be able to help her.

What she needed was the Doctor.

_Really? Again? Oh, come on..._

She found the nearest Underground station and climbed aboard the next train home. She resolved to be on her own turf before she called him again. So soon, he might have the power to obliterate her with the tip of his eyebrow, and she didn't want to be caught off-guard.

Ten minutes later, as she rounded the final corner to her flat, she pulled out her mobile.

But she was stopped in her tracks by a serious-looking blonde whom she had met before.

Okay, she wasn't the Doctor, but she would do for now. She was connected – Martha was sure of it. And if something sinister was hitching a ride on her back, perceptible only to a select few, she wanted answers.

"Hello," Martha said, putting her mobile back in her purse. She refrained from saying _Want to tell me what the fuck is going on?_

"Hi," said the blonde.


	21. Wild Horses

**Sorry if I'm messing with classic Doctor Who/UNIT canon... hope it doesn't offend you too much!**

* * *

WILD HORSES

"The funny thing is," the blonde was saying. "The Atmos thing? That little problem actually got solved much more efficiently in this world. 'Course, I suppose that depends upon who you ask. The Sontarans aren't best pleased with the outcome here, I'm sure."

They were sitting on the front steps of Martha's flat. Martha had stopped short of inviting the woman inside. She felt sure that if this person intended to do her, or anyone else harm, it wouldn't matter whether or not she was allowed inside Martha's home. Still, she didn't want something or someone who felt so wrong to be in the place where she lived and slept and dreamt.

"How do you mean, in _this _world?" asked Martha.

"You know about alternate time lines, don't you? Parallel worlds?"

"Yeah, I know that much," Martha said. She chuckled a bit. "You know that I know. By now I've worked it out, you must know who I am and who I work for. So why don't you tell me who _you_ are? And why you always wear the same clothes?"

"I know who you are, Martha Jones," the blonde said. "I know that you live in this flat here, and that you work for the Unified Intelligence Taskforce."

"Well, hallelujah, a welcome bit of honesty."

"You're the daughter of Francine and Clive, sister of Letitia and Leo. Came first in your class at St. Andrews, began medical school four years ago, took a year off to travel, and were accelerated through the final year by UNIT because of your field experience," the woman recited. There was a pause. "And I know that you're engaged to Tom Milligan, that he's a doctor who's off travelling right now."

"You need to leave Tom alone," Martha said, quite seriously, without sounding particularly menacing.

"But he's not the only one, is he?"

"The only one of what?"

"The only one who's gone off travelling and has left you behind," said the blonde, her voice not unsympathetic. "Not even the only doctor you love."

"You are treading in very tetchy waters," Martha said to her, her voice clear, her eyes hard. "You are a total stranger and I don't need this. So if you're not going to tell me why you're here, why you're bothering me and why people keep looking at my back, then I'm just going to go..."

"None of that was supposed to happen."

"None of what?" Martha asked, suddenly standing down.

"The flat, the job, the fiancé," said the woman. "None of it."

"Why not?"

"There was a time, Martha," she began. "A world, really. Where everything was different – you didn't have any of that."

"Great," Martha sighed. "Sounds like a magical place."

"No, but, you had so much more," the woman said. Tears came to her eyes. "You had..." She swallowed hard.

"What?"

"You had the Doctor."

Martha sighed and leaned back on her hands. "I should have known that's what this was all about," she sighed. "For your information, I never had the Doctor. He had me. I travelled with him, but... he never even looked at me twice."

The blonde was crying, tears were falling like rain, but she worked to maintain a steady voice. "Not in this world, no. But in an alternate timeline, yes, you did. You had him, and he had you. You were never meant to walk away from him, Martha. You said you were going to go, but he was supposed to ask you to stay, and you agreed. And he fell in love with you."

"No," Martha said, standing up. "He didn't."

"Yes, he did," the blonde insisted, raising her voice for the first time. She stood up as well. "Believe me, I wish it weren't true, but it is." She paused as the tears fell, and she caught her breath. For a brief moment, Martha thought she might be choking.

And suddenly, from the look in her eyes, from the hurt she clearly felt at this revelation, Martha was able to see. She let a few moments pass, contemplating whether to voice her thought. At last, "Rose?" she asked, tentatively. "Are you Rose Tyler?"

The blonde woman did not answer, nor did she deny. Her silence spoke volumes, and suddenly, this encounter became a wholly different affair.

"This isn't right, Martha," Rose said to her, in lieu of answering her question. "Time has splintered. That thing on your back..."

"The scarab," Martha mused.

"I can't really see it," Rose confessed, wiping her tears. "I know it's there, though. I can hear it sometimes, and it carries an energy signature. Apparently, it vascillates on a frequency that's out of this time and place – that's why people who are slightly out of their element can sense it."

"What the hell is it?"

"It changes the world in tiny little ways," she tried to explain, sitting down on the step once more. "Small decisions that we make, turning right instead of left, calling later instead of now. But it made the Doctor think twice about uttering one little phrase: _Martha, no_. That's all he was supposed to have said, and with those words (and many, many more) he convinces you to stay. But the scarab, it changed his mind, held his tongue for him, whatever. And the consequences... well, they're important to re-write. To you and me, anyway. We have to put time back on track."

"Back on track to a world where I stay with the Doctor forever, and he loves me?"

"Yes."

"That is our goal. Not to slay a dragon, not to unplug a black hole or something... the goal is for him to fall in love with me. Nothing greater than that?"

"Nothing greater? That is the greatest thing, the most important thing ever! Greater than you know, Martha... and that is saying something. The goal is for the two of you to be in love, and be together for a long, long time. It needs to happen."

Martha couldn't help but feel her cynicism, sarcasm take over. She sat down next to Rose and turned her hands up in wonder. "_You_ want to put the world back into a position where the Doctor is in love with someone who is not you?"

Rose swallowed hard again, and pushed a strand of hair out of her face. "Yes."

"Why? What's at stake? There has to be something! Earth in peril? Universe dying?"

"Yes, but every single universe is in danger," Rose said. "Something's coming from across the stars to attack them all, but the Doctor will save the universe whether you're with him or not. That's not the question."

"What happens if time takes its course from this point now? The Doctor saves the universe..."

"...but he won't be able to save himself or Donna Noble."

Martha's heart sank. Sometimes the greatest disasters were the small ones. The Earth would be safe, but the Doctor and Donna would perish somehow.

"They don't die, not for a long time. Something worse than that will happen to Donna," Rose told her. "And it will break the Doctor's hearts, and he'll have no-one." She choked a little, and Martha could see her holding back tears.

"Oh God," Martha whispered.

"He'll be so broken that he goes off on his own, turning away any and all company or help. He'll be isolated. He'll transform. He'll have no one to stop him doing things that he'll regret, and it will set some things in motion... he'll have to die on his own, regenerate into a new man with no-one by his side. And all too soon, Martha."

"But isn't that the hazard of a Time Lord travelling with a human? We die, and he's left to mourn for another hundred years or so. What's to say the same thing won't happen to him when I die?"

"The natural order of things says it," Rose told her. "Donna's demise is not a death – it is an unnatural and brutal removal from his life."

Martha couldn't believe her ears. She stood up and paced back and forth in front of her steps for a bit, and Rose just let her process. It was too much. It was wonderful, but too much. "How do you know all this?"

"My world is running ahead of yours," she said. "I work for an organisation that has this weird technology... we've been able to take advantage of the coming darkness. The walls between worlds are breaking down and we can see things."

"I can phone him right now," Martha said. "I can get him back here."

"No, it's too late now," Rose said. "Events that will bring down Donna Noble are already set in motion, and once that happens, the Doctor is lost. We need you to stay with him, to agree to continue to travel with him. That way, Donna doesn't come back into his life, things go differently, he falls in love with you, and he's a different man. He's less reckless, he lives longer, he's happier for a longer time. And Donna gets to live a normal life with all of her fond memories of her one afternoon with him. And you? Well, you win the grand prize." Rose said this almost bitterly.

"Why don't you just take yourself back there? Fix whatever went wrong that forced you to separate, and save him the pain of losing you. That's the biggest sore spot for him, at least when I knew him it was. Heal further wounds – travel with him yourself. Why aren't you contemplating that?"

"I have contemplated that. And contemplated it and contemplated it, but it doesn't work. He doesn't save the world from the Empress of the Racnoss nor help catch the Plasmavore on the moon, who'd be set to wreak all sorts of havoc on the galaxy," she said. "Not to mention, she would have nuked the Earth. And the Master? That's all you, Martha. You were meant to have that trek across the world, not me.

"Besides," Rose continued, now not looking at Martha, but into the distance. "In order to do what you're saying, I'd have to cross my own timeline, somehow get in that room at Torchwood and save myself from falling, or stop my dad from... and, well, crossing one's own timeline? A paradox waiting to happen. I tried it once with the Doctor and it caused a whole heap of trouble. These dragon things came and ate him... it wasn't pretty."

Martha waited. She had the feeling that, at this stage, Rose was no longer exactly speaking to her. She was rationalising, reminding herself again why she couldn't have what she wanted.

"No," Rose said. "It has been made very clear to me that my involvement with him must end... when it did. Believe me, I've explored every possibility. If I could go back..."

"I get it," Martha interrupted. And she did get it. "Are you sure about this?"

"I'm sure," Rose assured her.

"This is for the Doctor," Martha said.

"It is."

"What do I need to do?"

* * *

Round the corner, men in berets waited in a Jeep. Martha recognised them as UNIT officials, and opened her mouth to ask, indignantly, what the hell was going on, but Rose shushed her. "Top Secret Ops," Rose whispered. "Not even Colonel Mace knows – don't feel bad."

As the Jeep trundled out of town and across a bit of heath, a million thoughts travelled through Martha's mind. Not the least of which, of course, was _is this woman completely mad_? But what if she wasn't? What if she was right, and time had been splintered, and she was meant to live a life of love and adventure with the Doctor after all? She had long since stopped daring to dream, but, she noted, it was telling that she agreed to climb into a Jeep with a virtual stranger to help the Doctor, without even giving a second thought to her life with Tom. Compared to what Rose said she could have, this life was a farce anyhow. She could see that everything she'd be giving up would be far superceded by everything she'd be gaining. Or at least that's how it looked.

Next to her, Rose was stoic. Martha tried to think of something to say, but she could come up with nothing. There was so much tension here, so much to hash out, and yet, what difference would it make now? This was Rose. _The _Rose, in whose shadow she had lived for two years, _pining_ after a man who loved _this woman_. And now, this very woman said she wanted Martha to be with him, that it was their destiny, and she'd been pulled across universes to bring Martha what was undoubtedly a very painful message for her. In her position, Martha wasn't sure she'd have Rose's mettle.

Then again, it was all in the name of helping the Doctor, saving him from himself. Put in that light, Martha felt differently; clearly either one of them would do anything for him, therefore, perhaps she _would_ have the mettle.

No-one said a word until after Rose had thrown aside the plastic curtain of a makeshift warehouse (really, an uglified circus tent) and one of the officers saluted in response to her authoritative plunging inside. "I've told you, don't salute," Rose said.

Martha smiled inwardly. The Doctor had recently had a similar conversation with a UNIT officer.

The officer, a severe-looking black woman, turned to Martha and said, "Dr. Jones," and offered her hand.

Martha's eyes narrowed as she shook hands with the female officer. "Do I know you?"

"Captain Erisa Magambo," she answered. "We met briefly during the Polturian Sling debacle. Thank you for doing this."

"Er, sure," Martha said, uneasily. She glanced to her right, and Rose was fiddling with some dials and buttons near a pane of computer screens.

"Is it ready?" Rose asked Captain Magambo.

"Ready as it's ever going to get," Magambo answered. "It's a bloody mess."

"Well, it's the best we can do," Rose sighed. She turned to Martha. "You're going to like this. Come look."

Rose threw a curtain aside, and a semi-familiar sight greeted them. A control board with a cylindrical column of light was sitting in the middle of a circular, tunnel-like device. It had familiar dials and handles, a yellow defence switch, plugs and ports for all manner of attachments.

"Is that...?" Martha said, pointing at it. "Oh my God!"

"Yes," Rose laughed. "It's a TARDIS console. But, like the Captain said, it's a bloody mess. Back when the Doctor was working alongside UNIT, not in an official capacity anymore – much later than that – the TARDIS was blasted somehow and the console was sort of destroyed. It crashed to Earth and healed itself... grew new parts. UNIT stowed this thing away, and they've been working on reviving it."

"Wow," Martha breathed, walking around it, touching the edge of the console. "What's with the tunnel thing?"

"That's the teleportation device from Luke Rattigan's inner office," Rose told her. "They salvaged it after the castle went up for sale. It seemed to solve a lot of problems for us. The console here, it can give us reasonable time coordinates and some temporal flux – I mean, it's been disconnected for years, it only carries traces of the vortex now – but we had no kind of pod to travel in, no teleportation ability. But _voilà_, thank you Mr. Rattigan."

"Wow," Martha repeated. She stole a glance at Rose, who was wistfully running her hand over the defence switch, ghosting her fingers over places where the Doctor's had been in centuries gone. She was remembering. Martha had seen that look on the Doctor's face a hundred times, in moments when she suspected he was thinking of Rose.

"Rose," Martha whispered. "You must have been dragged across universes by wild horses."

"How do you mean?"

"How else could you do this?"

Rose stared at her with steely sadness, but did not respond to her question. Instead, she began speaking again about the errant console. "The catch is, we think it's only going to work once," Rose said. "So we have to be very, very sure."

"About what?"

"About where you're going and what you're going to do there. Now, this little... well, TARDIS has worked very, very hard to track down the moment of intervention at six minutes past two, on the day when you and the Doctor parted company. He nearly said, _Martha, no_, but he didn't. The scarab made him hesitate. But he needs to say it, it's very important, otherwise you'll leave."

"Got it."

"What the TARDIS, nor anyone else here, has not been able to work out is how we'll get him to say it," she said. "We know the moment, we just don't know how to get into the Doctor's head."

"Okay, so..." Martha shrugged, as if to ask _so then why did you bring me here?_

"Okay, so..." Rose echoed. "You were there, in that moment, Martha. What was being said? What was the look on his face? How did he react to you – his body, his eyes, anything you can remember."

"Well, I told him about my friend Vicky, and he looked sort of..."

"No, don't tell me," Rose said, her eyes scrunching against her will. "What's important is that _you_ know. Because if you can work out what he was thinking based on all those things and what had been happening, then maybe you can work out how to change his mind."

Martha circled the console a bit more, touched the edge, tried to imagine this archaic-looking thing in the Doctor's world.

After a long while, Martha said, "Maybe I don't need to know what he was thinking," she said. "Maybe I just need to get him alone."


	22. Stop Me

STOP ME

Captain Magambo emerged from a tent which served as a makeshift coffee and tea station. She found Rose sitting upon a stool in front of the original pane of screens, spinning round like a child. Magambo handed her a cup of tea, and touched her shoulder gently, indicating that she should stop spinning. Rose looked up at her sheepishly, took her tea, and said thanks.

"Where did she go, again?" Magambo asked, sitting down on a nearby folding chair.

"I'm not exactly clear," Rose said. "I think she went home to get a jacket."

"Was she cold?"

"No. Not sure what's happening."

The distant sound of a Jeep approaching began to creep into the room. Within five minutes, Martha Jones was entering through the plastic curtain, and she had changed her clothes and hairstyle. She was now wearing a wide black headband, holding her bangs back. She had put on a black velvet jacket with embroidered lapels, and a red camisole with a lace line across the bust. Her trousers were black dress, and her shoes were chunky and made her look taller.

"Hi," Rose said. "Tea?"

"No, just had some, thanks."

"I assume there's a reason for the change of look."

"Of course," Martha said, sitting down with Rose and Magambo. "Everyone knows you can't time travel in a cocktail dress."

Rose looked at her with questioning eyes, but didn't say anything. They looked at each other for a bit, then Rose asked, "Are you ready?"

"I think so," Martha said. "Now, you're sure you haven't brought me here to vaporise me?"

Rose chuckled. "I thought about it, but the UNIT higher-ups said no."

"Well, okay then," Martha said, winking. "Let's do it."

"Stand in the teleport," Rose instructed. "Where are we going?"

"Armistice Day, 1983. This little church in Surrey."

Rose bit her lip. "Any particular reason?"

"Yes," Martha said, but she did not elaborate.

"Okay then," Rose said, shrugging. "Off we go."

* * *

The Doctor sat at a table in a little tea room in Surrey in 1983 and waited for Martha to return from the ladies'. He plunged his index fingers into his eyes and rubbed – it had been one hell of a day, and frankly, things had become a bit too emotional for his taste. She had wanted him to believe that she was simply answering the call of nature, but he had known her long enough, at least, to know when her voice didn't sound right. She hadn't wanted him to see her cry, so she'd left the table. He found it quite daft. By leaving and shedding her tears in private, she actually made the event more dramatic. He could handle crying – he'd seen and done plenty of it. At least she'd have someone to hold her hand...

He assumed that what had upset her had been seeing Tim Lattimer as an old man, sitting in a wheelchair, still weeping for those he'd lost back in the Great War. Martha herself had made the decision that they should not try to say hello – it might be too much for him to handle at his age. But it was Martha who had been the most moved by the Armistice Day dedication, and she who had insisted that they both wear the red poppies on their coats in honour of those who had died. Therefore, the Doctor believed, it was not Mr. Lattimer who could not handle the encounter. But it was okay – short of planets in peril, he was not one to force his companions into difficult situations if they did not wish to be in them.

Her sadness was understandable. Not seven days before, they'd met Tim as a precocious fourteen-year-old, and he had played a crucial part in helping the Doctor dispatch with the Family of Blood. Seeing him reminded her of the passage of time, of the human condition and the impermanence of it. Even though she was a bona-fide time-traveller, she was still subject to this lesson from time to time.

She was only gone for about five minutes before she slid back into the seat across from him. "Sorry about that," she said.

"It's all right," he said. "I ordered you an Earl Grey and some lemon biscuits."

"Thanks."

"Wait... you came in through the front door..."

"Yeah, I popped out the back to get some air, decided to come round the building."

He shrugged an _okay_, in acceptance of her lie. "You know where I'd like to go next? There's this big, old house in the middle of London that's radiating time energy like mad, all across the ages. It's called Wester Drumlins – fancy a look?"

"Er, all right," Martha said. "But first, Doctor, there's something we need to discuss."

* * *

Time travel without a capsule, the Doctor had once said, was a killer. Well, he might have been exaggerating, but only slightly. Time travel in a capsule that's basically large and open on one end was, at the very least, a whiplash-giver.

True to the TARDIS' form, the ancient vehicle dumped her about half a mile from where she needed to be. Though, upon reflection, as long as she'd hit the right day, she figured that was pretty good for a console that had been out of commission since the 1980's. But Rose had been right; it was only good for one trip, because somehow, when Martha arrived, there was no console nor teleportation pod. She desperately hoped this plan would work, or she'd be stuck in 1983.

She walked past the church where the Armistice Day dedication had taken place, and found that the pastor and guests had mostly left. Only a few servicemen hung about, waiting for further instructions. She approached and asked one of them if she might have a poppy pin for her lapel. One of them gave her his, and she pinned it on.

Then she took a right behind the church, then a left, and found herself across the street from the tea room where she and the Doctor had taken Earl Grey and biscuits just after seeing Tim Lattimer honoured. She remembered this day well. She had spent half an hour in the ladies' room crying hysterically, three months of tension having been released in a torrent of misery, let loose by perhaps the Doctor's most hurtful words yet.

She watched herself and the Doctor inside the tea room from a safe distance. There she was, wearing the same velvet jacket and red cami, her hair was the same, her trousers and shoes. The moment would be an ordinary one. There would be no particular look on his face, no particular gesture, just words that she could not hear. She would know that he had dropped his little bomb when she saw herself get up and head for the loo. From that point, she would wait five minutes, and from then, she had to be careful. Fifteen minutes tops, and she had to choose her words wisely.

And then it happened. Martha in the tea room got up and hurried away, disappearing behind a curve in the wall. Martha watching from across the street looked at her watch. She saw the waiter come and go, she saw the Doctor rub his eyes, and she watched him stare at the wall. She ducked behind a car, just in case his eyes happened to wander in her direction.

When five minutes was up, she gave herself a little mental pep-talk, and started across the street. She reached for the door handle and as she did, she realised, at the last second, that she was still wearing her engagement ring. She slipped it off her finger and into her pocket with a little skip of her heart. That was the last insult to her relationship with Tom – she had taken off the ring so she could be with the Doctor. She wondered if she'd ever have occasion to put it back on.

She walked into the tea room and slid into the chair across from the Doctor. "Sorry about that," she said.

"It's all right," he said. "I ordered you an Earl Grey and some lemon biscuits."

"Thanks."

"Wait... you came in through the front door..."

"Yeah, I popped out the back to get some air, decided to come round the building."

He shrugged an _okay_, in acceptance of her lie. "You know where I'd like to go next? There's this big, old house in the middle of London that's radiating time energy like mad, all across the ages. It's called Wester Drumlins – fancy a look?"

"Er, all right," Martha said. "But first, Doctor, there's something we need to discuss."

"Okay," he said as the waiter dropped off the plate of biscuits and pot of tea. "What is it?"

"I have to tell you the truth," she said. "What you said to me just now... it really hurt me."

His eyebrows shot up and he sat up straight. "Oh," he said, surprised. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"I know," she assured him. "You never mean to, but you do."

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I didn't think you'd mind. I thought you'd taken a liking to Joan."

"You thought wrong," Martha told him. "I don't like her, I never did. She treated me like... well, a servant, and boy did she fire both barrels at you, mate."

"I know she treated you horribly," the Doctor reasoned. "And so did I. But neither of us exactly knew the score – it was 1913, and you _were_ playing the role of a servant."

"Yes, but my mother always told me that a good test of character is how one treats the help."

"Fair enough," the Doctor nodded.

"But that's neither here nor there," she said. "The point is, I didn't think I was just a passenger anymore."

"You're not! I thought I'd made that clear to you."

"Then why did you invite her to come along without even asking me?"

He thought about this. "I... I'm not sure."

"Do you love her?"

"No, John Smith loved her. I just thought she'd make an interesting travelling companion."

"For whom?"

"Well," he said in his trademark, second-thought way. "For me."

"And what about me?"

"She..." he hesitated. "Probably would have continued to be horrible to you. At least for a little while."

"Do you see what I'm saying, Doctor?"

He sat back in his chair and looked at her, duly shamed. "I do," he said. "I don't want us to be captain and passenger, I want us to be... captain and first mate, eh? I should have asked you first, and I apologise. I will never do anything like that again."

"Thank you," she said, smiling a little.

"Will you have some tea?"

"No, thanks," she said, thinking that when the 'present' Martha came back, she'd find it odd that someone had used her cup. She sat back and crossed her arms. She allowed her smile to fade.

"What's wrong?"

"It's just..." she sighed. She had practised saying this many, many times when she was feeling angry or low. "It's just, I feel like this thing with Joan, it's just a symptom of a greater problem."

"What sort of problem?"

"Me not feeling valued by you," she said. "And it could be that I'm just reeling from the 1913 thing, that I'm feeling overworked and underpaid because I've literally been someone's maid for three months... but no, on second thought, I don't think so. All of that was just a reminder – the nail in the coffin."

"You don't feel valued? I don't make you feel valued?"

She thought about it. She had to put herself back in those shoes, in that time, in that place. "I feel like... I'm your friend, you like having me around most of the time."

"That is true. I love having you around."

"But I'm not indispensible to you," she said. "I mean, I think that I am, actually. In 1913, you'd have been lost to John Smith and the world of Joan without me. But _you_ don't act like I'm indispensible. If you did, you'd have asked my permission before inviting Joan aboard. It's the sort of thing that a person thinks of when he or she has an indispensible partner at their side, you know?"

"Martha, I'm sorry..."

"No, don't apologise," she said. She worked to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "Just... make it better, will you?"

"Yes," he said sternly.

"And promise me something, Doctor," she said. "If you have ever cared about me, you'll keep this promise."

"Anything. What is it?"

"If I ever let this feeling, I don't know, make me want to leave you," she said, acting as though she were pulling a scenario out of the air. "Stop me. Please."

"Oh, you can bet I'll stop you."

"Because I feel this way sometimes, and sometimes I feel like it's not worth it," she said, her voice actually breaking now, remembering. "To travel with you, to feel like a second-class citizen. But I know deep down that it _is_ worth it, all the pain and uncertainty... just don't let me walk away from it."

"You have my word."

"Okay," she said, sniffling. "Ugh, I have to go..." and she gestured to the ladies'. She needed to make her exit before her other self came back.

"If you need to," he said.

She stood up. "Will you promise me one more thing?"

"Of course."

"When I come back from the loo, let's never mention this again," she said. "I feel so silly..."

"No need to feel silly, Martha," he assured her. "You're right about everything. I need to be better about this – it's not just my ship, it's _our_ home."

"Thanks," she whispered, and she went round the curve in the wall. She found the back door and slipped out. She waited across the street once again, and eventually saw herself come back to the table. She remembered that the conversation went toward seeing a film in 1983, possibly, and Martha's grandfather who had fought in World War II.

And as she watched, she felt safe. The Doctor, she knew, had always kept his word about never mentioning that conversation again, and that meant that he could keep other promises...

Relieved, Martha leaned against a nearby wall and closed her eyes.


	23. Everything I Need To Know

**Wow. This chapter took me forever to write!! Three painstaking drafts later, well... I hope you find it worth the wait.**

* * *

EVERYTHING I NEED TO KNOW

"What the _hell_ is that?" Martha spat, rising from her silken-upholstered stool. A very large beetle writhed on the floor, and then expired. _Un escarabajo gigante_, perhaps eighteen inches long with legs like rosebush stems.

"You are so strong!" the woman cowering in the corner said. This was the sick fiend who had set the scarab upon Martha, who had changed the world in 'tiny ways,' and caused an entire reality to form around her. She still felt the sting of living in a hollow world – nice flat, exciting job, fiancé. But it was a farce. It had been real, for a few brief, dull, splintered moments. And it had been terrible. How could she live that life? She thought about the pang of loss she felt every time she longed for Tom, off in the Congo, and how it really had nothing at all to do with Tom... she had been still mourning for another lost love, a _real loss,_ trying to fill a void with a similar man.

But there was no similar man, not anywhere. And she hoped he was still outside this door waiting for her. How long had she been gone? A few minutes, half an hour, a whole day? Longer? In the vision, or whatever it was, it had been a month, and she had felt every single day of it like an anvil on her chest. It had been a month since she'd seen him, or at least been able to be herself around him – and it hurt.

She heard the woman behind her leave in a huff. Martha had no idea what this person had to gain from changing time as she did, and right now she didn't care. They would deal with her later, if they had to. Right now, she just wanted to get the hell out of here and find her clever, dynamic, exciting, handsome, infuriating, and wholly singular Doctor.

"Everything all right?" he asked, poking his head through a sheer curtain.

She was so flooded with emotion when she saw him, that she stood frozen for a few moments with her mouth open. When finally she did make a sound, it was an intarticulate cry, visceral, from her whole body. Not loud, just deep. And with it, she threw herself forward, and they embraced tightly. For Martha, it had been an uncomfortably long absence, and she covered the left side of his face and neck with a hundred desperate kisses.

"What's all this?" he asked, rather delighted. He pulled away and looked at her with a smile. Though he was beaming, she had tears running down her face.

"I'm just _so _glad to see you," she said, taking his head in both hands and pulling it down for a proper kiss. For a few moments, they got lost in it, and both felt a frisson of something beautiful and warm come over their bodies.

Neither one of them tried to suppress that feeling now. It was their time. Having seen her world without the Doctor, having seen his world without her, she knew they made each other complete. Great big gaps were left in each others' lives, and no-one should have to die all alone.

This was meant to be, and they were ready.

Of course, before Martha had wandered into this infernal shop with the beetle of terror and heartache, and before that, the theatre where they'd seen a gorgeous interstellar opera, she had known why they were here. The planet Hervang had a handful of locals who worked in and around the resorts, and the rest of it was dotted with hotels, cabanas, haciendas, and the like. A man does not make hotel reservations, then bring a woman to the opera because he wants to investigate the barometric pressure. At least not this man. Well, at least not now.

And not with _that _black dress clinging to her like giftwrap.

In spite of this, however, the Doctor knew something was wrong. He pulled away from the kiss, so reluctantly, and asked, "Martha, what's wrong?"

"Can't I just be happy to see you?"

"Yes, but..." his eyes travelled sideways. The scarab lay dead on the floor. "Oh, blimey," he sighed. He turned and bent to pick it up.

He walked slowly over to the table where she and the woman had been sitting befoe, and put the beetle down on its back. He poked at it with a bamboo stick a bit, and told Martha, "It's part of the Trickster's brigade. Most of the time, it's pretty harmless – what did it do to you?"

She closed her eyes and sat down beside him. "It's slipping away."

"Must've been major," he said.

She was telling the truth, it was slipping away – everything except the name and face of the woman who had brought her here in the end. That much she knew. But she didn't want to discuss it now.

She took his hand. "Can we talk about it later? Just take me back."

Her eyes were pleading. "You sure?" he asked.

"I just want to be with you," she said. "No tourists."

"It might fade away for good."

"I know everything I need to know," she said.

* * *

They walked slowly, hand-in-hand, back out to the streets of the city of Shen-Shen. Martha smiled at it – the resort planet had themed sectors, this one had the look and pulse and artificiality of a western "Chinatown" on Earth. They were staying in a hotel in the midst of a Forbidden City-like fortress (really, a city square), complete with a complex of buildings with swooping roofs and carved mahogany lions guarding the entrances.

The campus was called Shen-Shen Ping-An, and they didn't speak during the walk back there. It was enough, especially for Martha, just to be together. Besides, knowing where their journey would now take them, it was hard to find words. All overtures had been made, and the only thing left to say could not be said with words. The sun was setting, everything was perfect, no speaking shattered their calm nor their resolve nor desire.

They shared their lift ride up as far as the fifth floor with another couple. But as soon as the strangers left, the Doctor pulled Martha in close and bent, kissing the smooth curve where her neck meets her shoulder. His lips and tongue lingered there for a few seconds, and she nearly swooned from the rush of heat it gave her. It was almost as though his mouth were drawing the warmth up out of the depths of her body and causing it to circulate, and make her skin hum all over.

When the doors opened, finally, on the eleventh floor, Martha stepped off first and walked ahead of the Doctor, all the way to the end of the corridor to their room. She dug the key out of her handbag, trying to remain calm, and not show her agitation. As she did this, he stroked her upper arms and kissed the other side of her neck three times. Her knees went weak again, and her lips parted involuntarily, letting out a heady breath. Before she could get the key into the lock, he whispered, "Please hurry." The words were barely there, but the tone was unmistakable, and suddenly, Martha found it very difficult to breathe.

Shaking, she got the door open at last, and stepped into the room. With the setting sun outside, the place looked entirely different from when they'd checked in during daylight. Without turning to face him, she set her handbag down on the sofa and went to the large window. She looked out over the expanse of a foreign planet, still not over the awe of it. Before she felt him, she saw him in a reflection on the glass. Soon enough, his hands were on her arms again, and he stroked her gently, then bent his head down once to taste her.

His kisses began just behind her right ear and traced a path maddeningly slowly out to her shoulder. She craned her head back and closed her eyes, leaning against his shoulder, and he pushed his arms around her waist. She concentrated on the sensation; the feel of his lips on her trickled down into the rest of her body like little sparks. He made his way slowly back to her ear. He even lightly kissed her ear, tracing the outer edge all the way round as Martha listened to his breath, pulled in close, and the sound of her own, responding to him.

She stood up straight and took a step forward, loosening herself temporarily from his embrace. She put her arms up and grasped the curtains and in one smooth motion, pulled them shut. It was meant to be a statement, and the Doctor received the message loud and clear. He let his hands glide down her sides and over her perfect hips and thighs as he sank to his knees. He reached up and took hold of the zipper in theback of that black dress he liked so well, and with each little bit he pulled, he nipped and kissed and licked the flesh beyond. She took in sharp swallows of air, and she wondered how long she'd be able to remaing standing if he continued.

When the zipper was completely undone, he kissed the small of her back, and felt himself further inflamed at the sight of the edge of her black lace knickers. At this point, the dress was only remaining on her body because she was holding it in place. He pulled away from her and waited, and she turned and looked back over her shoulder at him. He looked up at her with pleading eyes, and she smiled wickedly for just a beat too long, before letting go. It skimmed down her body like it was crude oil, and pooled around her feet. He follwed its journey down, and stared at the black dress on the floor with short breath, and a kind of hunger. Still in her heeled sandals, he watched her feet as she turned to face him. She took his chin and forced him to look up at her.

He had seen her body, and they had been intimate; he had known before now that she was perfection. But never had he felt so free to admire her with abandon, knowing that he didn't have to hold back or steal glances or keep his touch light. For his own sake, he didn't have to restrain – he knew that this was the night. He allowed his eyes to slide over her skin, her small, upturned breasts, and the soft, flat expanse of caramel-coloured stomach. His hands and fingers explored the spread of delicate black lace that crawled across her hips. She had strong, lean legs that held up a tiny frame, but they looked long and luxurious tonight, in this light, in those shoes, in this mood.

She could practically feel the burn of his eyes on her, and it felt exquisite. She smiled as he took her in, and took the opportunity to reach down and loosen his tie. As she untied and discarded it, he unbuttoned his own jacket and tossed it aside. She fell to her knees and joined him, meeting his eyes. She held his gaze as she unbuttoned his shirt slowly, and then ran her hands rapaciously along his chest, and she ventured lower, feeling the hardness beyond his prim pinstriped trousers. She made sure that her caress was felt through the fabric, and now it was his turn to part his lips and exude a heavy breath. She tugged at the button and it snapped loose, and the zip came undone almost of its own volition. He had no choice but to stand if he was to remove his trousers.

And so he did, and Martha was left kneeling. She lovingly untied his trainers, and helped him out of them, and his socks. And then she pulled the brown trousers down his legs and waited as he stepped carefully out of those as well.

Martha also realised now that though they had been intimate before, though she had touched and caressed him and given him pleasure in the past, she was now free to be unrestrained. In their moments together in the shower, she had run her fingers over his length and watched the look of bliss overcome his face, but had stopped well short of the release. And she knew that the Doctor held himself back from out-of-control territory. No more. When she looked back up at him, it was with a look of knowing, of desire and mischief.

That look did more than hint at what she was about to do. But, that didn't stop the sharp intake of breath through his clenched teeth when she did it. He let his head fall back, and coarse word escaped his lips then in the form of a guttural moan, a word that Martha had never heard him say. His fists clenched at his sides as he held his breath and waited. Martha pulled her lips back and let him slip from her mouth, then slid forward again, engulfing him tightly once more. The Doctor found his head swimming as he slipped into her mouth for the second time, and he exhaled with another crackling moan.

He watched with wide-eyes and ragged breath as she worked her lips over him, kissed and nipped, licked and stroked lovingly. She moved her tongue around, in circles, in lines, in zig-zags. He almost could not believe what was happening; when he had imagined this time with Martha, when they finally threw caution to the wind, he _never _imagined it like this. He had known it would be beautiful and explosive and wonderful, but it never occurred to him that Martha Jones could make his knees buckle with her tongue, that she'd even have the wherewithal to try. As though she could read his mind, she looked up and made eye-contact with him, and it was intoxicating. Her eyes said so much, and she was clearly enjoying the surprise on his face.

Eventually, her exotic ministrations gave way to a more rhythmic action, and with the back-and-forth of her lips, he felt the jolting, drunken pleasure transform into a deep, rising need. Occasionally, she pulled tighter and would illicit another hearty groan from him. His entire body was rapidly tightening, and Martha steadied her hands on his hips as she brought him closer and closer forward toward the brink. He rested one hand on her shoulder and squeezed as some kind of threshold was crossed, and he could no longer feel anything coherent above the waist.

"M... Mar...," he stuttered. "I..."

It wasn't the fair warning he'd hoped to give her, but he wasn't capable of words anymore. He had a billion languages and couldn't form a complete sentence in any one of them. And a split second before he let go, he squeezed both of her shoulders, and in response her hands tightened their grip on his hips. With a deep grunt, somewhere between pain and ecstasy, he flooded her mouth. His body felt like it was shattering and his vision was speckled with stars. The euphoria felt prolonged, profound, the shattering continued in pulses, waves of pleasure, diminishing, eventually, into a dull throb.

And in that moment, Martha felt her entire being, her mind and body, inundated with pure passion. When finally, after all these months, she gave him release, it was as though a tide overcame and then filled her, pulled her in, and she had never wanted anything, ever, so badly. She could have wept with the intensity of it, and the best was still yet to come. His body spasmed repeatedly between her hands and lips, his voice shot through the room in rough, inarticulate splinters, and she was at peace. For so long, she had wanted him, everything he was, everything he had, and so she swallowed what he gave, pulled him in as he was pulling her. And when it was over, it wasn't over, though she released his member from her mouth slowly, reluctantly, and sat back on her heels.

She looked up, and he was looking back, panting with ragged shock. _That word_ flew off his lips again in a loud whisper, the purest manifestation of utter disbelief she had ever seen him express. And that was saying a bit. As though she had taken every ounce of his strength, he fell forward once more to his knees to face her and desperately took her cheeks in his hands and kissed her like a man starved. What she had given him had been powerful, and compounded upon the weight of their two and a half years together, their experiences, their friendship, her brilliance, it was like a supernova – explosive and consuming. He wanted to devour her, and she wanted to let him; she clung to him, arms fully extended around his chest, and their mouths searched for and through each other.

He pulled her sideways with him, and they both put one hand on the floor to steady themselves. Martha pulled away from the kiss and found herself sitting on the carpet. She smiled at him and moved just far enough away that she could pull her legs out from underneath her and spread out on the floor. She lay back and extended her arms over her head, her tiny, perfect brown body, clad only in one lacy black garment and framed by a deep purple and red circular design on the rug. She stretched her muscles from head to toe, knowing, feeling him watch her.

He watched intently, as a matter of fact, and an answering pull within his body reminded him that the night was far from over. So soon, and yet he felt it again, that need, the desperation. He had to have her, and wanted to taste her, explore, and concentrate on every single inch of her that his lips had not yet touched. He started with the instep of her right foot, then moved to the left. He planted slow kisses all over, and allowed his lips to drag across her skin. He kissed the outer ankles, and twirled his tongue around the inner ankles and painstakingly covered both calves and shins, both knees and then started on the thighs.

His hands and long fingers roved all over, sometimes his lips followed, sometimes they took their own course. But what never stopped, never changed was the pleasure, the frisson of electricity she felt everywhere that he touched her. Her breathing was in tatters by the time his mouth touched her inner thigh, and his tongue had the power to illicit a gentle moan that denoted her ecstasy, but threatened to break _him _in two. He reached her hip and found himself kissing lace. With one finger, he delicately pulled at the portion of her knickers that covered her hip bone, exposing it to his mouth. He continued the journey across her middle, pulling the low-slung lace just slightly away and dragging his tongue over the flesh underneath.

She felt almost a rage shoot through her, and she scratched at the rug as a tiny shriek emerged from her throat. Then, something that sounded like words came forth. All the Doctor heard was, "Please."

"Mm?" he asked softly, against her smooth stomach.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Please," she barely could say. "Just..."

He smiled a little, and had an idea of how she would have liked to finish that sentence, but he did not obey in the way she wanted. Her head was swimming anyhow, and she rested it back upon the floor almost before what words she _could _manage had got out.

The Doctor pushed his fingers under the lace at her hips and tugged. She lifted her bum just enough that he could pull her knickers down her legs and toss them aside. He went back to working his way up her body. He kissed every millimetre of her stomach, made his wicked way up and across her breasts, and by the time he reached her clavicle, she was panting. In a way, he was back where he'd begun.

Martha opened her eyes once more, her eyelids heavy with the intoxication building within. "Doctor," she whispered breathily.

He lowered himself down and put his mouth near her ear. "Don't talk," he whispered. "Just feel."

He kissed her softly, she answered with a sigh. Looking straight into his eyes, she said with intensity, "I know everything I need to know."

She was, he knew, echoing her words from earlier, the words that said she was ready. He held her gaze, and said with equal intensity, "Do you know that I love you?"

Her eyes changed, and they reflected a visceral emotion, the unravelling of a coil, the release of fear. "I do now," she said, her lips and tongue forming words where her voice failed her.

And then words left her once more, because in the next breath, he pushed inside her, and he wasn't gentle about it. The force pushed her mouth open, but no sound came out. The Doctor reacted very much the same way, with teeth bared and voice gone. Suddenly, they were both blind and half-mad with pleasure and love, and their emotions were quicksand. He pulled back, and with a primal necessity, drove into her again, then again, just to watch her face.

He was washed away in a wave of hunger, everything came crashing down and his control slipped away. Suddenly, he couldn't stop and she didn't want him to. Suddenly, she felt him take her over and over, and the power of it would not allow her oxygen to return. She grasped for it in short intakes of air, and so did he. She grasped at his arms, shoulders and hair, her fingers practically clawing at him, pulling him in closer and deeper, answering the motion of his body. Her legs tightened around his thighs, and before she knew what was happening, she came undone. This was when she found her voice again. A short shriek was came forth as climax found her, and all of that tension left her in a hundred diminishing waves of pleasure and release.

It felt like ages that she was drowning, but when she came back to herself, she found that the Doctor had not missed a beat, he was still driving into her with total abandon, and watching her very, very closely. And he did not let that feeling of release remain for long. He shifted his weight, and his thrusts began going slightly upward. The sensation was so intense, tears came to her eyes and she nearly bit off her bottom lip. She scratched at the carpet once again, looking to brace herself, but nothing stopped her from flying straight into a second climax, which came like a _pop_, as though a bottle rocket had been lit inside her. Her little shriek was louder this time, and it was not like drowning, it was more like jumping from a plane.

Coming down this time, she felt like a rag doll. Her arms were jelly and her body felt like liquid, with ripples spreading over her at every touch or disturbance. The Doctor leaned toward her again, without slowing down, and brought his mouth closer to her. He told her, with inarticulate rasps of air, that he loved her, and she reciprocated. With a great effort, she brought her head up and kissed his cheek, and jaw and chin and neck, and then repeated the action on the other side.

She covered him with kisses from the neck up, and felt his body push harder and faster, now trying in earnest to find its right moment for letting go. She could feel him winding up, feel him tightening as he had before, and to her surprise, she felt the same thing within herself. He was bringing her to the edge for a third time, and she laid her head back, and looked at him with shock. He smiled with a kind of savage satisfaction, and now it was his turn to cover her face and neck with kisses. Once again, her legs tightened around him, and somehow, even with his senses having long-since taken leave, he articulated the word, "Now."

The whisper resonated in her ear, and its heat brought her the rest of the way. "Yes," she answered.

At the very last second, the Doctor's eyes locked onto Martha's, and the two of them hurled each other over the threshold. Neither of them made a sound this time, but the explosion happening within was plenty loud. She felt she was letting go of herself and taking him in, being drained and filled at the same time, as though she could become someone or something new from this act. He finally felt he had given himself up, uncorked whatever he had been holding in and at last was becoming a part of her. A metamorphosis happened in that moment, and when the passion died down, they were practically new people. Or perhaps they were simply newly _one_.

They remained for a few moments staring at each other with a combination of shock and love. Eventually, a smile spread over the Doctor's face, and he began to laugh a little. Martha followed suit, in her exhaustion. He sat up, reached to side and yanked the comforter from the bed. He pulled it over them, and curled up on his side behind Martha.


	24. The Earth Moved

THE EARTH MOVED

Under normal circumstances, Martha might have drifted off to sleep, but not tonight. She was exhausted, yes, but still buzzing with excitement. Two and a half years she had waited for this night, and she was not about to sleep it away. She couldn't, even if she wanted to.

For his part, the Doctor lay on his side stroking her arm, and for once, there was very little on his mind. He felt full and content, sort of numb with bliss. If anyone had used a mind probe on him at that moment, they might have heard a piano tune playing, or perhaps the memory of a sigh. It had been so long since he'd been calm enough to feel this way.

"Doctor?" Martha murmured, after a long silence.

"Shhh," he said, not wanting to disrupt this rare and fragile harmony.

She smiled at that, and turned over on her back to face him. "Doctor."

"Shhh," he repeated, eyes shut. "Can't you hear it?"

"What?"

"The sound of time stopping."

For a few moments she just stared at him.

Then he opened his eyes and asked, "Yeah?"

"Can you do that?"

"Stop time?" he asked, his voice high with whimsy. "Please! Of course. I'm a Time Lord, it's like putting on socks for me."

"When you put on your socks, time stops?" she asked, with exaggerated scepticism.

"I'm always being misquoted," he sighed. "Besides, when you put it like that, it makes it sound implausible."

She laughed. "Well," she whispered coyly. "You just made the Earth move. Why _shouldn't_ I believe that you could stop time?"

With a wry smile, he said, "You're rather an Earth-mover yourself, Miss Jones."

If the lights had been on, he would have seen her blush. But she was enjoying the attention. "Surprised, were you?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. After a few seconds, he just began to laugh. She laughed along with him. "Yes," he confessed. "Yes, I was. Very, _very_ surprised."

"You looked like someone had pulled the rug out from underneath you," she said.

"Someone very nearly had," he responded, one eyebrow rising.

"So why the shock, then?" she asked. "It's not like..."

"I know. _I know,_" he said. "I guess I just get used to thinking that your lives all began with me."

"Lives?"

"You lot," he said. "People who travel with me."

"Well, I reckon a lot of them – us – have felt that way."

"Do you?"

"Well," she said, sounding very much like him. "I certainly had never time-travelled or been in space before I met you, I guess that goes without saying." She softened. "I'd never been in love before I met you."

"Never?"

"Not like this," she responded, her voice going deep. "My whole life, I had never loved anyone like I love you, and you managed to get me with one stupid kiss. How did you do that?"

"Magic."

"That's what it felt like," she confessed. "But before then, I'd gone places and done things... I wasn't a child, which I know you know. I had had a real life by then."

"I suppose you had."

"Including..." Martha said, biting her lip.

"...a boyfriend or two?"

"Or two, yeah. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. It's just me again, thinking I'm the centre of the universe," he said. Then his smirk came back. "Besides, it's all the better for me if you picked up a few things along the way."

She threw her arm over her eyes. "Ugh, can we talk about something else, please?" He laughed. Then she stopped and looked at him. "But let's talk about you. Nine _centuries_ of experience?"

"Yeah, but it had been a good three since last I used my powers for thatsort of good," he told her.

"Three hundred years since the last time you..."

"Give or take."

She couldn't help but giggle. "Oh my God."

"Oi," he scolded. "You try it sometime. It's not as easy as it sounds."

"Well, I hope I never have to," she smiled. "What happens if you go without for too long?"

"Well, eventually one of my vascular systems would have shut down, and I'd have needed a special chemical or I'd have gone into a coma. But of course that chemical is only found on one very tetchy planet where they begin interstellar wars with anyone who tries to strip their resources. It results in the destruction of planets, the explosion of stars, erosion of dependant orbits..."

"So, an entire solar system goes kaplooey if you don't get laid?"

"Yep."

"Mm-hm."

"Well, what do you want from me? It's been three hundred years, Martha. I think we've both learned from experience that if I don't have sex for a long period of time, nothing happens, except I get frustrated and distracted and... frustrated. That's all."

"Hm. Sounds like me."

"I do have to say," he added. "That some of my regenerations have been randier than others. You just hope you regenerate into one of the less tense bodies."

"I'll go out on a limb and guess that this is _not_ one of your less tense incarnations."

"You'll be correct."

"How did I know?"

"You're clever, Martha Jones, haven't I said?" He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss.

She stared at him for a long moment, then asked, "Do you think we'll ever... you know... open up and talk about all that?"

"You mean about those who have moved the Earth for us?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, I reckon someday it'll come up. I'd like to know eventually who taught you to do... what you just did. But I'm not ready to hear it yet," he told her.

"Good," she said. "Because I'm not ready to say. We'll both just enjoy the fruits of others' labour, and call it good for now."

"Good. Now, do you want to tell me what happened in the Trickster's station?"

She reached up and caressed his cheek. "Can't we just wait? This has been so perfect – can't we at least wait for the sun to come up?"

"Well, I suppose that's up to you, Martha," he said. "But you seemed upset about something back there. Whatever it is..."

"It can wait," she told him. She thought about what Rose had said in the Trickster's world, that the Doctor would save the universe no matter what, but it was her job to save the Doctor. "Trust me, it'll be fine. I've waited too long for this."

He smiled. "Me too. Not as long as you, but I think enthusiasm makes up for duration."

"Enthusiasm, yeah," she sniggered. "Seriously, three hundred years?"

"Can we drop it?"

* * *

Martha managed to keep the Doctor's attention focused away from the Trickster, the past and everything else except for _her_ until sun-up. Her method included a careful regimen of nudity, pleasurable physical contact, the right words and exotic fruits. Halfway between the second time they made love and the third, she ordered a fruit tray while the Doctor was hanging their clothes in the wardrobe and _tsk tsk_-ing himself for having wrinkled his jacket.

Her final thought before drifting finally off to sleep, utterly exhausted, was _I wonder how many suns this planet has. _She could see at least one peeking through between the curtains she had drawn at dusk the night before.

High noon found the Doctor sitting on the veranda on a lounge chair wearing a white terrycloth robe, watching the "Forbidden City" below. Martha was in the shower, and a steward had just brought their lunch and left.

His mind was skimming over the events of the past two and a half years. Against his will, he thought of standing as a hologram as his hearts broke on Bad Wolf Bay. That day, it had felt like the world was ending, as though the pain would never dull. But now, it felt like ages ago. It was still quite a painful memory, one he didn't care to linger upon for very long, but in light of the intensity of what was to happen next, it seemed a bit less epic. Because though Rose would have given up everything she had to be with him, Martha _did_ give up everything she had knowing she'd be without him. Rose crossed the void on the wave of a teleport because cruel fate decided she must. Martha crossed the planet Earth on foot because _she_ knew she must.

Being transported to the moon while in Royal Hope Hospital now also seemed ages ago. So many things had changed since then – his entire mindset was different now. But, by those standards, the _Titanic_ debacle seemed ages ago. And Messaline.

_Yesterday_ seemed like ages ago. Yesterday at sundown, everything changed.

"Hello."

He had been deeply absorbed, and was startled by this simple word, not uttered particularly loudly. He turned rather sharply and saw Martha standing in the doorway of their suite dressed very much the same way he was. "Hello," he said back, cracking a smile. "Nice outfit. You seem to be swimming in it."

It was true. The robe that fit him like a glove dragged on the ground when she walked and wrapped around her one and a half times. The sleeves were folded up until they were puffy at her forearms. She held her arms out and looked down at the monstrous thing. She shrugged, and the Doctor found this inexplicably and inextricably endearing. He laughed.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "What did you order?"

"Just some sandwiches," he told her, standing up. He lifted the dome lid on one of the pewter platters. "We've got ham and swiss, or chicken salad. Any preference?"

"Ham, please," she said.

He arranged the trolley so that they could sit at it like a table, he poured her a glass of something from the pitcher filled with clear green liquid, and they began their lunch.

"What's on the agenda today?" she asked.

"Well, name something, I'm sure they have it here. What would you like to do?"

"I would like to disappear into that suite with you and never come out, but I don't think that's very plausible," she answered. "What about some swimming?"

"We could do that, if you want," he said. "There's a hot springs up in the mountains, about a hundred miles away."

"That sounds nice," she said. "After the run we've had... what?" She had noticed that he was staring, looking at her with a kind of awe.

"Nothing, just... I was thinking about how much has changed."

Martha smirked. "Tell me about it," she said. "Sometimes I think about what I was doing a year ago, and I wonder if it was real."

"What were you doing? Sleeping among the other squatters in an abandoned building in Minsk?"

"No," she said, her face falling. "I think I was escaping from Japan."

"Last one out," he said.

"Only one out," she corrected. "No-one else survived."

"Well, it's a good thing it never happened," he noted. "Thanks to you."

"Yeah," she whispered. And then she shook herself back into consciousness. "Sorry. Blimey, here we are trying to have a nice holiday lunch on the terrace, and I'm dwelling on painful memories. Just kick me if I do that again."

"There will be no kicking," he insisted. "Besides, you're not the only one. I was thinking about how much has changed, how the hospital on the moon, when we first met, seems like a million years ago. But I was also meandering around..."

"What?"

"I'm not sure I should say," he said, avoiding her eyes. "I don't think this is the time."

"Why not? I guess as long as we're here, and it's done, why not drag it all out? We'll go swimming later and cleanse our spirits."

He was silent for a long time, wondering whether to tell her about the awful event that had randomly popped into his head. They were fully a couple now, _very _together, in every way. They should be able to handle conversations like this. But then again, last night, hadn't they both said they weren't ready to talk about old flames? But hadn't they already talked about this, back in the cornfield? Sort of? Well, yes, but when they talked in the cornfield, they hadn't just spent the night on the floor doing things they'll never be able to tell Martha's mother about.

"Martha, just leave it," he said. "I don't think we should go there, it's too much for..."

His discomfort gave him away. "It must have been Rose. It's okay, I've been thinking about her, too."

"Pardon?"

* * *

It didn't take her long to tell the story. Well, it _shouldn't _have taken her as long as it did... the details were fuzzy, but the big things were still there. She'd been engaged to Tom Milligan...

"Who?"

"This bloke who tried to help me escape the Master. He was killed that day, but after you reversed time, I rang him up. But then you convinced me to stay, so..."

"Wait, you rang him up in _this_ reality?"

"Yeah, but it was before I knew I was staying with you."

"But didn't you love me then? Blimey, Martha, the body wasn't even cold."

"Yeah yeah, can I continue my story?"

"Yes. Go on."

...she'd seen the Doctor on one occasion when they defeated the Sontarans, she worked for UNIT, a certain type of clairvoyant could perceive that something was on her back, and Rose Tyler kept popping up to give her cryptic messages.

"Like what?"

"Like... something about staying at work, and not going somewhere else... it's fuzzy. But whatever she said, it brought me to you."

"How so?"

"I told you, the details are fuzzy. Would you please let me talk?"

"But how did you know who she was?"

"Because, she was this blonde who was all moony-eyed over you! I took a shot in the dark!"

"Why would she send _you_ back, and not herself?"

"Doctor."

"Sorry."

In the end, Martha had transported back to a moment when she could reasonably expose to him her feelings for a few minutes, and make him promise to stop her from leaving him.

"Wait, that was..." he said, totally shocked, his eyes open wide like headlights. "Okay, okay, let me get this straight. That day in Surrey in the tea room when you made me promise to ask you to stay..."

"Yes, that was _me_, but from a parallel world, and I was trying to repair a splintered timeline. Or something like that."

"How the hell did you do that?"

"UNIT has one of your older consoles."

"Well, there must be some reason, some world-altering disaster..."

"I'm getting to that, will you please let me finish?"

He sighed. "Yes."

Yes, Rose said that the universe was in danger, but the Doctor would know what to do either way; all of the time-altering business had been in the interest of saving someone called Donna from a terrible fate, and saving the Doctor from gutting himself over it, going insane and dying alone.

"What's going to happen to Donna?" he asked, alarmed.

"Wait, you know her?"

"Yeah, I met her... well, right before I met you, actually. I scared her, I think."

"Donna Noble? Red hair, sort of loud?"

"That's her."

"Wow."

"What happens to her?"

"Rose didn't say, she just said it was a fate worse than death."

He stared at her, his lips pursed. "What's worse than death?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"And more importantly, does that mean it would have been my fault?"

"Again, why, Doctor?"

"Sorry, I'm just trying to get my head around all this."

"If you're looking for answers, I'm not your girl," she told him. "Well, I am, but I don't know anything. And anyway, it doesn't matter because it's been fixed. I'm here with you – that's how it's supposed to be."

"Well," he said, smiling, taking her hand across the room service trolley. "That part is not in dispute." He kissed the tips of her fingers, and it gave her a little shiver.

"So whatever comes, we can handle it, right?"

He hesitated, then sighed. "Martha, the walls between realities are breaking down."

"What?"

"And I am not at all sure that that is something that can be handled by anyone. Well, except for the Time Lords, but you'd need an army of them... and no such luck, I'm afraid."

"How do you know the walls between realities are breaking down?"

"Rose lives in another universe, and the void was sealed off when Torchwood fell in London," he told her, his voice suddenly growing more intense. "If she can cross from _her_ parallel world into _your_ parallel world, that means the walls of the universe are breaking down, which puts everything in danger. Everything."

"But she said..."

"Not written in stone, Martha, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember."

* * *

Sometimes the TARDIS was a haven, other times it felt like work. This was one of the latter. The walls of the universe breaking down meant that their fabled holiday on Hervang was over. They dressed, checked out of the hotel, walked back to the vessel and landed on Earth less than an hour after their conversation began.

Martha half expected to walk outside and find everything devastated, with creatures from other worlds roaming about, the Earth having transformed into a Salvador Dali painting. But what she found when she followed the Doctor outside was a typical London afternoon, about two blocks from her family's home.

"It's fine," the Doctor said, surprised and worried. "Everything's fine. Nothing's wrong, it seems fine. I wonder what day it is."

"It can't be _fine_, Doctor," she said. "You said Rose can't cross realities."

"Exactly," he said. "So how did she?"

He turned and ran back into the TARDIS, and Martha followed. He began looking at screens and readouts, twisting things and pressing buttons. She watched him work, with that determined look on his face. It was a mannerism that locked her out completely, and something within her sank. After a night like last night, she never thought she would feel second best again. But circumstances had changed, and suddenly, she felt exactly as she had on the first night they'd flown off together. No kind of replacement.

"Doctor, this may not be the time, because things are bad, and I get that. But... Rose is coming back."

He stopped in his tracks and looked at her as though he'd been waiting for her to come to this conclusion. "Yeah," he replied, non-committally.

Martha wound up to say something else, trying desperately not to sound whiny or jealous, but suddenly, they were knocked off their feet by a great jostle of the TARDIS. It was as though a wrecking ball had bounced off the blue wooden exterior.

"What the hell was that?" Martha shouted, getting up off the floor.

"It came from outside!" the Doctor replied, running for the door. He threw it open and peered out. His eyes gaped in disbelief.

She came up beside him. "What happened? What did you do?"

He ran back to the console and pulled the main screen into view. His face was curious, then it morphed into confusion. "We haven't moved. We're fixed." And then a kind of recognition came over his features. "It can't have!"

He ran back to the door where Martha was still standing transfixed. "The TARDIS is in the same place, but the... planet has gone."

She gaped at him. "What?"

"You heard me, the entire Earth... it's moved."


	25. Great Loss

**Again, this is taking me a long time to work out! I have certain goals with writing this final phase of the Doctor and Martha's season 4 journey, and I am taking great care! Thank you for being patient!**

* * *

GREAT LOSS

They hovered in space. Just hovered. The Doctor stared into the console's monitor, pressing buttons, twisting dials, scowling. Martha leaned against the console with her arms crossed, staring worriedly at the floor.

The Doctor stole a glance at her.

"Martha," he said, low and gravelly. Beyond that, he wasn't sure what to say. His first instinct was to say that he loved her, that she didn't have to worry about Rose coming back into their lives (at least he didn't _think_ she needed to worry), but he also knew that they had bigger fish to fry now. Their relationship woes would have to wait, and Martha was clever enough to understand that. What could he say? Fortunately, Martha answered the unasked question.

"My family is dead," she whispered. "All of them. Mum, Dad, Tish, Leo..."

"What?"

"If the Earth has moved, they've got to be dead. There will be no sun, that means no heat, and no orbit. And no orbit means no gravity," she said. A horrifying picture came into her head, and she wondered if her family's bodies were floating frigid in space somewhere. She turned her head and looked at the Doctor pleadingly. "Please tell me I'm wrong."

"I can't," he said softly. "Because I don't know. I'm sorry, but I just don't know."

She cupped her hands round her nose and mouth and started to sob. She might have collapsed, except the Doctor caught her and held her tightly against him and waited as her tears soaked his suit. She almost couldn't breathe, and the violent sobs caused her body to convulse. The Doctor's hearts were breaking, and he found himself choking on some sobs of his own. Her family, her _whole world_ might literally be gone. He was very aware at this moment that he may well have been all that she had left in the universe. He was glad they had had the chance to spend some time on holiday on Hervang before life dropped this upon them.

After a few minutes, she stopped shaking, and her crying seemed to level out. "Martha?" he asked. "I need to check the readings to see if we can find out where the Earth went."

"Okay," she said, allowing him to pull away. She wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve, and he handed her a handkerchief from his abnormally large pockets.

He stared into the monitor once more. His face tightened and his eyebrows went nearly vertical. He glanced at her, unable to control tears leaking down her cheeks. He bit his tongue and went back to the monitor.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said. "Just... nothing. It's okay."

"No, it's not, Doctor," she insisted. "What's happening? Why did you make that face?"

He sighed. "There's no trace, Martha," he conceded. "Not a whisper. This is some _fearsome_ technology."

She swallowed hard, determined to show that she could handle this news, unwilling to allow him to keep information from her. She nodded. "What do we do?"

"We need to get help."

* * *

Francine Jones picked herself up off the kitchen floor. She held out her arms as she got to her feet, examining her pale pink cashmere top, and swore. She had been walking from the stove to the kitchen table when the earthquake happened, and she had spilled onion soup all over herself. Not to mention, jars of pottery had fallen from their shelves and shattered, pans had fallen from the rack and dented when they hit the floor, and Francine had been knocked down and forced to dodge all of the tumbling debris.

_That must have been a record, at least for Britain_. She was sure that she had _never_ experienced an earthquake in her exotic travels, let alone here at home. She dug her mobile phone out of her purse and dialled her husband who was in Amsterdam on business.

"Clive!" she shouted. "You'll never guess!"

"Never mind that," he shouted back. "There was just an earthquake here!"

"What?" she asked, shocked.

"Yeah, I know! An earthquake _here_. It was huge, too, it's a wonder this building is still standing."

"But... but..." she sputtered. "We just had one too."

"What?" he asked. Now it was his turn to be befuddled. "Maybe it was a shockwave from the one here, you know, continental plates or whatever. I'm not surprised. This was big, Francine, big enough to knock me clear off my feet."

"It wasn't a shockwave, Clive," she insisted. "This one knocked me down too. You might be right about the shifting- plates thing – I wonder if all of Europe felt it."

He was silent for a few moments, and it made her uneasy.

"Clive? Clive, what's wrong?"

"Francine, what time was it when the earthquake hit?"

"It was just a minute ago... it's two-thirty-four p.m. right now, why?"

"It's night."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "You're only an hour ahead there."

"It's night," he repeated.

"What are you on about?" she asked, and made her way to a window. She looked outside and her jaw dropped. The sky had gone dark, the sun and moon were nowhere to be seen. The streetlamps had come on, and people were filing into the streets in scatters, looking askance at the heavens. "My God," she breathed.

"I know."

"And it's happening there too? It was mid-afternoon two minutes ago, and now it's dark?"

"Yes," he said. "People are going mad."

"What the hell is happening?" she wondered. "I'm turning on the television."

"Me too."

Neither of them said anything for a while as they watched and waited for news. "Anything?" Francine asked after a time.

"There's some news," he said. "But I haven't found a channel in English that has anything useful yet. You?"

"The BBC is advising people to stay in their homes," she said. "That's bloody helpful."

"No answers?"

"Nope."

"Wait," he said. "I've got something."

Francine heard the television in the background being turned up. She muted hers. "What is it?"

"One of the news stations has Richard Dawkins on the line," he said. "He's saying the Earth has moved to an entirely different part of outer space."

"That's preposterous! I mean, it's impossible!"

"Apparently, it's not."

"Of course it is, Clive," she insisted. "Don't be daft! We're in a gravity-based orbit around a sun, for God's sake, we can't just _drive_ out to the middle of nowhere."

"Francine, open your eyes! How much have we seen in the past two years? Our daughter _teleporting _out of a room right before our eyes? The President vaporised by minions from space? A man shot dead every day for a year only to come back to life on his own? Another man's age advanced nine hundred years with the press of a button? Time turned back and twelve months erased? Is any of this ringing a bell?"

She sighed. "I suppose. And all of it revolved around..."

"Don't say it," he spat. "He saved our lives, and you know it. Just leave it."

"_Martha_ saved our lives," she said.

"Let's not have this conversation, Francine," he said. "The Doctor is a good man – you're just upset because he's got Martha out on the road all the time."

"I'm surprised that you're not! Don't you miss your daughter?"

"Ugh, I'm so tired of this argument," he said. "The Earth is in peril, and we're still..."

"What?"

"We should be _calling_ him, not arguing about him! Blimey, Francine, the Earth has moved across the cosmos! Who on _this _planet do you think has the slightest clue what to do about it, 'cause I don't know anyone. We need him! What are we doing talking to each other? Call Martha! Get him back here! Get them both back here!"

"I need to see this for myself," Francine said angrily, un-muting the television and flipping through channels. "Just 'cause Richard Bloody Dawkins says it's true doesn't make it true!"

He sighed. "You're just an impossible woman. Look, I'll call you later, all right? I'm going to try and phone Martha and her bloke."

"He's not her bloke!"

"Goodbye, Francine. I love you."

The line went dead, and Francine clicked her tongue in frustration. She figured that Clive would ring Martha, speak to her for a few minutes, and in a half hour or so, she would ring Martha herself. For now, she left the television on a BBC news briefing and went upstairs to change. She put on a new pair of trousers and another sweater, and came back downstairs to clean up the mess. She tried to keep one eye on the TV as she swept up a fallen ceramic jar of flour and the former contents of a loosely-covered coffee tin. Eventually, she caught an interview with Dawkins, and other astronomers and physicists seemed to agree – the Earth had moved.

She felt in despair. She knew that Clive had been right – probably only the Doctor could solve this problem, which meant that before long, Martha would be thrown right into the middle of the fray. The thought of that made her sick to her stomach. Hadn't her daughter been through enough? Why, _why_ would she agree to travel again with the Doctor after all he had put them all through?

Somewhere deep down, she knew the answer to that, and had always known. But she wouldn't face it, not just yet. It was too complicated... the implications for the future... the impossibility of it...

She felt a little surge of mother's panic. She picked up her mobile once more and dialled. She waited as always for a connection, a ring and then to hear Martha's voice. But nothing happened. Eventually, a scratching white noise took over the line, and she shut the phone. She tried again, with the same result. Hadn't Martha told her that her phone could be reached in any time period, any point in space?

"Martha, where are you?" she whispered. She sat down at the kitchen table and buried her head in her hands.

Eventually, she was brought out of this particular stupor by a knocking sound. Her eyes shot suspiciously over to the front door, and her heart pounded.

Who could be knocking at the Jones' door at a time like this?

* * *

Stepping off the TARDIS, Martha was met with a familiar sight: the Judoon aiming guns at them. Thick as ever, a few words from the Doctor forced them to stand down, and a disturbingly pale woman escorted them into a large space, very white and antiseptic. If Martha hadn't known better, she'd have taken it for a futuristic hospital. Instead, she was told, this was the fabled Shadow Proclamation, the headquarters of the posh outer space police.

"No wonder Time Lords are the stuff of legend," the pale woman said, striding across the smooth white floor, her ceremonial robes trailing behind her. "Very nice work with Adipose 3, and very clever to protect it in a time lock. That is Time Lord ingenuity at its finest."

"Thank you, now listen..."

"Alas, we regret to inform you that your time lock was broken and Adipose 3 was taken, in spite of your efforts."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but more to the point," the Doctor tried again. "I've got one more missing planet."

"Then you're not as wise as the stories would say," the pale woman gloated. "The picture is far bigger than you imagine. The whole universe is in outrage, Doctor. Twenty-four worlds have been taken from the sky."

The woman showed the Doctor a screen, across which blipped a database of planetary images, figures and names of missing worlds. He put on his glasses and squinted at it.

Martha joined him, and looked at the screen herself. "So, Adipose 3 was taken. Wouldn't it be weird if this was all connected? I mean, missing planets..."

"Yeah," the Doctor muttered. "But that was a while back, as you remember. The Earth and the other twenty-three all disappeared at the same moment. About an hour ago."

"Hmm. Well, timey-wimey," she muttered. "Astrophysics is a funny thing – you never know what you're going to find. How did the time lock get broken, anyway, around Adipose 3 I mean? Who could do that, besides you?"

"Who is the female?" the pale woman asked the Doctor, annoyed.

Martha looked at the Doctor and asked, "Who is _this_ female?" with equal annoyance.

The Doctor smirked. "The Shadow Architect. She's in charge here." He said this with respect, but not with reverence.

"She detracts from the task at hand, Doctor. Please tell her to stand down," said the woman known as the Shadow Architect.

"Right, lady, that didn't work for the Baked Potato Squad, not gonna work for you," Martha let her know, with attitude. "I'm Martha Jones. I travel with the Doctor, and I'll be asking a lot of questions because my home planet has gone missing and I'm afraid that everyone I love in the universe, save for this man here, is dead. So just take two steps back, all right?"

If the Shadow Architect had known the word _meow_, she would have said it, or so reported the look on her face. The Doctor smiled, feeling a bit guilty for indulging in a positive emotion at a time when the woman he loved was so distraught over the possible death of her world. But he couldn't help himself – she was chuffing brilliant.

"So, Doctor," Martha continue, unfettered. "The question remains: who could do that, besides you? Who the hell could take an entire planet out of a time lock and put it out of sync with the rest of the universe? Narrow that down, and we're that much closer to a culprit, and if we find a culprit, then maybe we can find the planet, and..."

"That's it! Martha, you're brilliant! Well, I already knew that, but still."

"Thanks, I try," she said, furrowing her brow. "What did I say?"

"Out of sync with the universe! Blimey, I'd forgotten about that," he said, his hand on his forehead. "Someone was threatening to put Adipose 3 out of synchronicity with the universe if they didn't deliver the Niatrene Codex!"

"The Niatrene Codex?" asked the Architect. "That is a very dangerous piece of literature, Doctor."

"Why, what does it do?" asked Martha.

"It doesn't _do _anything," he answered. "Well, not by itself, anyway. It's basically an instruction manual for dissolving the walls of reality. You asked who but me could do this? Anyone with an enormous amount of power and the Niatrene Codex!"

"Lovely," she said, crossing her arms. "It's an interstellar terrorist manual. _The Turner Diaries _for the spaceship set."

He began to pace about, hands in his hair, tugging. "The Adiposians didn't have it, I was almost sure of it! Argh, they must have got their hands on it somehow, because, well, you know as well as I do that the walls between realities are breaking down. And they could have used it to break through the time lock, and steal Adipose 3. Oh, whoever they are, they are clever and ruthless. I don't relish this fight, Martha. Not one bit."

The Architect seemed to come relatively alive. "But that means that if Adipose 3 has been put out of sync with the universe..."

"Then the rest of them have as well!" the Doctor finished. "They've been taken out of time as well as space!"

His fingers danced over the strange keyboard in front of the monitor, and a 3D image of the planets appeared. "Okay, okay," he muttered. "Let's add Adipose 3." The keyboard went clickety-clack, and another planet appeared in the image.

"Extraordinary," the Architect said, staring at the image.

"What other planets have gone missing?"

"From what time period?" she asked.

"Any time period! It doesn't matter!" the Doctor shouted, a bit too excited for the occasion.

The Architect thought about it. "There's Pyrovillia," she answered. "Missing over two thousand years."

"Pyrovillia, Pyrovillia," the Doctor muttered, and a second later, it too appeared on the map. "Let's see, what else what else what else? Lost lost lost lost lost... oh! The Lost Moon of Poosh!"

This time when the heavenly body appeared on the map, the twenty-seventh, all parts rearranged themselves suddenly.

"What did you do?" asked the Architect harshly.

"Nothing," he responded, striding into the middle of the map. "The planets rearranged themselves into the optimum pattern. Twenty-seven planets, all in perfect balance. Look, Martha, you've got to admit that is gorgeous."

"Okay, but what does it mean?"

"All these worlds fit together like pieces of an engine," he told her. "A great big transmitter. But what for?"

"Who could design such a thing?" the Shadow Architect demanded, clearly appalled.

"Someone tried to move the Earth once before. Long time ago," he said, staring off into the distance. "Can't be."

* * *

Daleks, fantastic. That's just what this year was missing – a run-in with them.

Martha stood against a wall in the big white room, taking a breather. She was trying to call home, phone anyone she knew, but nothing was happening. Each time she tried, she was greeted with white noise that somehow hurt her ears. Tears fell from her eyes softly.

There was hope now, there always was when the Doctor was around. If he said that her planet wasn't gone, it had simply been taken out of time, then she believed her loved ones were still alive. She just wished she could speak to them and have proof that they were all right. They were probably hysterical with confusion by now, and she knew her parents would be trying to reach her.

"Take some water," someone said to her. "It purifies." Another extremely pale woman dressed in much less ornate robes was standing near Martha with a bowl.

"Thanks," Martha said. She took the container and drank down about one third of its contents, and felt immediately refreshed. Physically, anyway. She returned the bowl.

"There was something on your back," the woman said.

Martha was surprised, but she just sighed. That world hadn't even been truly real, but she still bristled at hearing that phrase. _Tienes algo en tu espalda._ "Yeah," she said. "There was. It's sorted though, now, thanks."

"Do not perish in the battle," the woman said. "The loss would be too great."

"Thanks, but I'm not that special," Martha said. "Besides, with the Doctor around, I'll be fine."

"I do not speak of the battle alongside the Doctor," she said. "I speak of the battle _for_ the Doctor."

"Excuse me?" Martha said, suddenly standing up straight. "What does that mean?"

"His love is great, but his hearts are fragile," she answered. "You will need to fight to keep him."


	26. Come Home

COME HOME

The pale girl who had brought water was running daintily up the stairs, leaving Martha to gape after her. It was like she had dropped a grenade in a the room and then wandered off. What the hell did she mean? _In the battle _for_ the Doctor... you will have to fight to keep him._ Martha thought she might know, but she'd been trying not to go there. Just before the Earth had disappeared, Martha had begun to contemplate the implications of Rose coming back, and the Doctor had had grave look in his eye... but then the stolen Earth and the Shadow Proclamation and the twenty-seven planet engine... she hadn't really had time for self-pity. But now?

"Martha," he said, his voice cutting across her consciousness. She gave a start, the water from the bowl she was holding spilling over her hands. She had no idea he'd come so close to her. Last she looked, he'd been standing across the large space at a computer screen with the Architect. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

He reached out and took the bowl from her and set it down on the floor, and then she melted into his arms. She flushed with warmth, and felt loved and relaxed and safe.

_Okay then_, she thought. _If it's a fight, then it's a fight. I'm not giving this up without one._

"Coffe break?" she asked.

"The Architect received an incoming auditory communications signal via air frequency on her concealed communications-alert device," he said with a mock-effeminate voice.

"You mean she's had a phone call?"

"Pretty much."

Martha chuckled. "The Architect, the Doctor... she maintains structure, you fix things when they're unwell. Is there a really clever bloke from some distant planet called _the Lawyer_, and he saves planets by arguing?"

The Doctor let out a short breath of a laugh. "Yes. And his brother, _the Tech Support Guy_ is going to get an earful after we find the Earth again. He must have been asleep on the job when he allowed this to happen."

She returned the laugh, and they stayed silent for a few minutes, holding onto each other. Eventually, they heard the Architect's voice announce that she had returned.

"Martha," he said again, then kissed the top of her head. "Think back – Earth. Was anything happening when you left? Some kind of warning?"

She pulled away and looked at him. "Like what?" she asked.

"Electrical storms, freak weather," he suggested, taking her hand and pulling her toward the centre of the room where the computer consoles were. "Patterns in the sky?"

"A lot has happened since then, Doctor," she said. "Not the least of which, the planet in question being overtaken by a megalomaniacal Time Lord."

He sighed. "You're right. I suppose if there were any warning signs, they'd have appeared since we've been travelling."

"Although," she said, smiling. "If it's freak weather you want, let me tell about the day it rained upwards."

He giggled. "Yeah, I heard about that."

"That was a completely different occurrence," the Architect said dryly. "The Judoon squad had been sent to Earth by us to capture a fugitive, and it was necessary to..."

"...remove a hospital from the planet because the Judoon have no jurisdiction over the Earth," the Doctor said in rapidfire fashion. "Yeah, we know. We were there."

"The weather effects were simply a bit of borrowed technology from Melissa Majoria," the Architect announced. "Nothing whatever to do with Earth's climate pattern."

"Huh," the Doctor shrugged. "That came from Melissa Majoria?"

"Who's Melissa Majoria?" asked Martha.

"It's not a who, it's a where," the Doctor told her. "It's a planet. And bloody elusive one at that."

"Yes, well," the Architect cut in. "They made themselves visible for a very short period in order to communicate, as they wished to call their operatives home."

"Oh, that's right!" the Doctor said with a delighted high pitch. "They've had their operatives on Earth for a million years or more. That's mad! What would cause the Majorians to call them home now?"

"Wait," Martha said. "Some planet has had the Earth staked out for a million years, and we never noticed?"

"Well, why would you?" he asked. "People see a bee, and they don't think anything – they just say 'hey look, there's a bee.'"

"A bee?"

"Yeah. The bees are aliens. Haven't I ever said?"

She scrunched up her face and glared at him as if to say, _Are you kidding me?_

"Wait a minute," the Doctor said with a start. He turned to the Architect. "When you say borrowed technology, don't you mean..."

"We are the Shadow Proclamation, Doctor," she said haughtily. "Do not forget..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, waving her words away. "But when you say borrowed, you mean _lifted_, don't you? Nicked? Stolen? Ripped off?"

"Again, I remind you," she said. "We are the Shadow Proclamation. We have that right."

"Perhaps," he said. "But you only had that _ability_ for a very short window while the Majorians were communicating with their operatives! Which means... so did everyone else!"

"What?" asked Martha.

"The Majorians cloak their planet, and therefore their technology," he told her. "You can't just hack into their system – it is only accessible when they choose to make it..."

"What are you getting at, Doctor?" asked the Architect.

His eyes switched over to hers. "Tandocca," he all but whispered.

"Good God," sighed the Architect.

The Doctor moved over to a computer station, and the scary pale lady moved out of his way. He punched up an image and pointed to the screen. "Look, Martha. There it is – the Tandocca Scale. And infinitessimally small trail of energy used by the bees to transport home so that they don't have to _fly_ four million light years to their home planet. It's virtually untraceable, like finding a speck of cinnamon in the Sahara, that's why they use it... but there it is! Ha!"

"Whoever moved the Earth could have stolen the Tandocca technology from the Majorians when they were temporarily visible and used the same wavelength to conceal an entire planet!" the Architect shouted. "Doctor, you're a genius!"

"But wait," he said, eyes wide, staring at nothing. A long pause, and then, "Blimey, why didn't I think of that before?"

"What?" asked Martha.

"Melissa Majoria is cloaked in a tiny pocket of time," he said softly. His eyes were wide and mad as he spoke to Martha. "Do you know what that could mean?"

"That so's the Earth?" she asked.

"_Correctamundo_," he said incongruously gravely. "Because if they stole the Tandocca technology, then they could steal whatever technology they're using to jump from time pocket to time pocket. But time is infinite, and the Majorians move all over the continuum to keep from being seen."

"And it works," the Architect added. "No one has ever found them."

"Not true," the Doctor said. "One time, they were found. Some galactic terrorists used a time-space rift's energy bleed to transmit a beacon across the universe, across time. And the Majorians were found, and their planet was stripped, and they were forced to rebuild..."

"I was not informed of this!" the pale woman said, standing at attention.

"Before your time," he said, not looking at her.

"Well, could the TARDIS do that? Send a beacon across time and space?" asked Martha. "I don't know, an Earth-encoded signal or something?"

"The TARDIS is a harbinger of time and space, not a rift," he said. "Besides, she's a ship, and we're trying to find an entire planet. We don't have enough power, even if she could do it."

"Okay, so then... we follow this Tandocca thingy," Martha said. "It won't lock onto the time pocket, but it's a start. Right?"

He looked at the screen. "The signal is beginning to scatter - we'd better hurry!" he shouted, grabbing Martha's hand. "Thank you Madame Architect, it's been a pleasure!" he called while running.

They burst into the TARDIS and he checked its instruments and the screen. He ran back to the door. "I've got a blip. It's just a blip, but... it's definitely a blip!"

"Then according to the strictures of the Shadow Proclamation," the Architect said to him, officially. "I will have to seize your transport and your technology!"

"Oh. Really? What for?"

"The planets were stolen with hostile intent. We are declaring war, Doctor, right across the universe! And you will lead us into battle!"

Martha could hear this exchange from inside the vessel. Her eyes went wide with alarm.

"Right, yes," the Doctor said. "Of course I will. I'll just go and get you the key." Something in his tone told Martha that this was not going to end in the way that the Architect was anticipating. The Doctor shut the door behind him and ran toward the console.

As the TARDIS dematerialised from the Shadow Proclamation, they could hear the Architect's furious, loud voice cutting across their departure.

* * *

Francine grabbed a fireplace poker before heading for the door. She looked through the glass behind the curtain and was relieved to find that the person knocking was a woman. Though, upon further reflection, it was less comforting to find that she was toting a huge gun.

"Who are you?" Francine shouted, voice trembling. "I'll call the police!"

"Please, Mrs. Jones," the woman pleaded. "My name is Rose Tyler. I'm a friend of the Doctor's, I swear on my life! Please let me in, I need your help!"

"Drop the gun, and then we'll talk."

Without hesitation, the caller unstrapped the weapon and laid it on the concrete in front of her.

Francine pulled the door open and eyed the attractive blonde suspiciously. "A friend of the Doctor's?"

"Yes," Rose said. "I travelled with him for two years."

"I'll bet you did."

"No, Mrs. Jones, it wasn't like that," Rose said evenly. "Not really."

"Mm-hm. How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"I suppose you don't," Rose admitted. "You'll have to trust me."

There was a long pause. Francine asked, "What do you want with me?"

"I need to find the Doctor," she said. "And if you can ring Martha, then we can get him back here."

"Well, my husband and I thought the same thing, but I've called, and there's no answer," Francine said, forgetting herself for a moment, turning away to grab her phone from the kitchen table.

"Do you mind if I come inside?" Rose asked.

There was another pause. "All right," Francine said from far away. "But lock the door behind you. And keep that gun away from me."

"No answer?" asked Rose, heaving her weapon through the door and setting it down in the foyer.

"Not just no answer," Francine replied, coming back into the room. "No connection. No sign at all – it's just static."

"Has that ever happened before?"

"No," Francine said, shrugging. "It always _at least_ rings! Even if she doesn't answer, at least there's a ring tone that lets me know I got through."

Rose put her hands on her hips and bit her bottom lip. "She _is_ still with the Doctor, right?"

"Yes, I know that much."

"You were my last hope. If we can't find Martha, then we can't find the Doctor." She turned away wistfully and approached a window. She looked up at the stars. "Where is he?" she asked them.

Francine watched her closely. Her body language, her sadness, the urgency in her voice, it all betrayed her. "What is it about that man?" Francine asked aloud, shaking her head. "You girls."

Rose turned to look at her, smiling a bit. Though her smile was really a forlorn replica of a smile. "You're like my mum," she told Francine. "She didn't entirely get it either."

"Didn't?"

"Yeah," Rose said, staring out the window. "She gets it now – understands the..."

"Understands the what?"

Rose looked at her once more. "The pain. The loss. It's like a knife in my gut."

"You mean not being with him anymore?"

Rose nodded subtly. Then she smiled again. "Can't believe I just said that to a total stranger."

"It's okay," Francine said. "It puts things into perspective. You love him?"

"Completely. With everything I've got."

She sort of wanted to stroke the girl's arm and comfort her – that was the mother in her coming out. But she still didn't entirely know whether she could trust this person, so she refrained. "Oh, I know how that feels, sweetie," Francine said. "Some men just leave a trail of broken hearts in their wake."

"He doesn't mean to," Rose said. "I think he loved me, even. But not..." She swallowed to keep the sadness down.

"Not what?"

"Not enough, maybe? I just mean... we were never _together_, you know?"

"Well, if we can get him back on Earth, maybe it's not too late," Francine suggested. She tried to tell herself that it was one person simply trying to offer comfort to another. It was not a self-serving comment, nor was it a comment meant to sabotage her daughter's happiness.

Rose smiled. "Thanks, but I think it is."

"What's standing in your way?"

Rose stared at her meaningfully.

"Not Martha," Francine said.

Rose continued to stare.

"They're not..." Francine said, her words having failed her. Then she wound up again, "No, not..."

"I assumed you'd know."

Francine's face registered shock and confusion, and she shook her head.

"I take it you're not happy."

"It's not that, it's just... she didn't tell me. Why wouldn't she tell me if she's in a relationship as important as that?"

Rose shrugged. "I don't know. I don't _want _to know, frankly. Anyway, I'm sorry you had to hear it from a total stranger."

"I'm sorry for you too."

"Don't be," said Rose. "Because it's okay. Martha's not standing in my way anymore."


	27. Across The Distance

ACROSS THE DISTANCE

Francine had just a moment to wonder at the implications of Rose's comment, but in that moment, she was pulled in a hundred different directions. Instinctual desire to preserve her daughter dictated that she was angry at Rose, and should mistrust her in any case just for being so keen on the Doctor. But the part of her that still felt the Doctor was dangerous wanted to help Rose win him back, simply because it would remove him from their lives. But how could this girl, a total stranger, come into _her_ house and make a statement like "Martha's not standing in my way?" Who did she think she was, the blonde chippie, and was that a threat? On the other hand, even Francine knew that this particular love triangle was none of her business and she should be all-too-happy to stay the hell out of it. But shouldn't she warn Martha? Or get the Doctor on the line and give him a piece of her mind? Again?

Given the circumstances, her thoughts, she knew, were ridiculous. The Earth was clearly in peril, for crying out loud. But she couldn't help it –overlying all of this was a disproportionate confusion over why Martha wouldn't tell her if she had a romantic relationship with the Doctor. How could Rose know about it if Martha's own mother didn't? Did Tish know, and just hadn't told her either? And if the Doctor and Martha's relationship was romantic, did that also mean it was sexual? And how long had _that _been going on? Which came first, the sex or the relationship? _Oh, Martha, you didn't! _Had they been sleeping together before the Master took over the Earth? Who was she kidding? Of course they had – what the hell else would they do with all that time together in the TARDIS, play Canasta? It had probably been way before Lazarus, especially given their discomfort at the party, and the Doctor's assertion that they hadn't had time to chat because they'd been busy doing "stuff." But wait, the Doctor wasn't even human! Who's to say that all the bits and bobs would allow him to... with a human, could he even...?

"What's that noise?" asked Rose. Francine snapped back into consciousness at the sound of her voice.

There was an electronic pulse sounding, a sequence of four beats. It reminded Francine of something fairly specific, and fairly dire, at a time in her life that she cared not to remember.

"It sounds like that awful Archangel frequency..."

"It's coming from your laptop," Rose told her, reaching out. "Do you mind?"

"No, go ahead."

Rose opened the lid, and a voice came from the small speakers. "The Subwave Network is open, you should be able to hear my voice. Is there anyone there?"

"I know that voice," Rose said, squinting at the screen. Rose sat down in front of the computer, hands-off, and stared.

"Yeah, me too," Francine said, sitting beside her.

"This message is of the utmost importance," the voice said. "We haven't much time. Can anyone hear me?"

The picture began to come into focus, and the face of Harriet Jones, former Prime Minister, became apparent. Rose and Francine looked at each other with amazement.

"What's she doing?" Francine asked. "Addressing the nation on a subversive frequency? Cheeky!"

"No, no," Rose said. "She knows the Doctor! He and I met her back when..."

"Captain Jack Harkness, shame on you!" Harriet called out. "Now stand to attention, sir!"

Rose's jaw dropped and she squeaked. Now _there_ was a name she hadn't heard in a long while.

"She knows Captain Jack, too?" asked Francine.

"What, _you_ know Captain Jack?" asked Rose.

"Well, yes. It's a long story."

The picture came into complete focus. Harriet Jones looked haggard but strong as ever. She held up her credentials. "Harriet Jones, former Prime Minister."

"Blimey, why does she keep doing that?" asked Rose.

"Sarah Jane Smith, thirteen Bannerman Road, are you there?" asked Harriet.

Rose squeaked again. Another name she hadn't thought about for a long time.

"Good," the former Prime Minister said. "Now let's see if we can talk to each other."

The screen went fuzzy, but Harriet's voice was still clear. "The fourth contact seems to have some trouble getting through. I'll just boost the signal."

A high-pitched whir came across, and then suddenly four boxes appeared upon the screen. Rose saw the faces of Harriet Jones, Captain Jack Harkness, Sarah Jane Smith, and on the bottom right, herself.

"Hello?" she said, rather more loudly than she would have liked. "Harriet! It's me!"

Captain Jack gave a hearty laugh. "Rose Tyler! Long time no see!"

"Rose, it's good to see you," Harriet said. "Though I'll admit I'm surprised – we heard you died at Canary Wharf. We were looking for Martha Jones."

"Yeah, I'm with her mum," Rose said. "Martha's with the Doctor."

"You're with Francine?" asked Jack.

Francine leaned into the frame, and Rose moved aside for her. "Hi, Jack."

"Hello, Mrs. J.," he answered. "Now isn't this a strange turn of events?"

"I knew we had to find the Doctor, and I knew the best way to do that..." Rose shrugged.

"Anyway," Harriet cut in. "I thought it was about time we all met, given the current crisis. Torchwood, this is Sarah Jane Smith."

"I've been following your work," Jack said to Sarah Jane. "Nice job with the Slitheen."

"Yes, well I've been staying away from you lot," she shot back. "Too many guns."

"All the same, might I say: looking good, ma'am."

"Really? Ooh."

Harriet Jones explained that she'd helped with the development of a piece of sentient software put forth by the Mr. Copper foundation. It is programmed to find anyone and everyone who can help contact the Doctor. The subwave is undetectable to non-users, including to the Daleks.

"Yeah, but what we need right now is a weapon," Jack pointed out.

"I've been trying to get in touch with UNIT," Harriet said gravely. "They have a weapon, but it's..."

"It's what?" Jack wanted to know.

"It's barbaric. It's unthinkable. It should not be used under any circumstances," she replied.

"What does it do?"

"Forget about it," she demanded. "And that's an order. All we need is the Doctor."

"But Martha's got her phone on the TARDIS with her, and I haven't been able to get through," Francine said.

"That's why we need the subwave," Harriet told her. "To bring us all together, combine forces. The Doctor's secret army."

Harriet, Jack and Sarah Jane devised a plan that would allow all phones on Earth to dial Martha's mobile number, and broadcast it across the universe. Harriet knew that this would make her vulnerable to Dalek attack, but she insisted that it was worth the sacrifice in the name of saving the Earth.

Torchwood opened the rift, Sarah Jane's super-computer went online, and Francine handed over her mobile to Rose, with Martha's number on the display. Rose sent the number via instant message to the other three parties.

* * *

And unbeknownst to anyone else, another woman dashed down the hallway of her mother's house in Chiswick, and searched through the pocket of the jacket crumpled on the bed. She extracted her mobile phone and ran back down the hall.

"Oi, lady, what on God's Earth are you doing?" her mother asked.

"Making a phone call!" she answered. "What does it look like?"

"What the hell is all this?" the mother asked, gesturing toward the screen with four talking heads. "Are they all cracked, or what?"

"Sylvia, now you leave her alone," said a third party, an older man with a rough voice and a soft spot for his granddaughter.

The woman and her granddad made eye contact, and she said thank you with her smile. She had confessed to him months ago that she'd been waiting for the man in the blue box to return, and he saw as clearly as she did that this could be her chance to find him.

"Blimey, mum," she whined, dialling the number that had come up on the screen. "Why can't you just accept that all normal people have webcams these days?"

* * *

"This is where it ends," the Doctor said in a silent TARDIS. "The Tandocca Scale stops cold."

Martha took a moment to witness the stillness. "It feels like we're just floating."

"We are," he told her. "In the Medusa Cascade. I was here a long, long, long, long, long, _long_ time ago. Centuries – I was just a kid then. Maybe ninety."

"So now what?"

"I don't know. The Earth is nearby, but it's lost in time. It could be at the Big Bang or at the end of the universe – we just don't know." His lips barely moved as he spoke, and his eyes all but glazed over as he stared past her.

Nothing was said for a long time, while the Doctor fixed his eyes upon nothing and Martha seemed to walk nervously in circles. Finally she asked, "Are you ready to talk yet, or are you going to be catatonic for a little while longer?"

No response.

"Sorry, I don't want to rush you, I just was wondering if I should wait for you or go have a sandwich and then try again."

There was a pause. She could almost _see_ the words sinking through his skull, and very slowly he came to. "Sorry. I'm here. Are you hungry?"

"Not particularly," she answered. "Just talking."

"Well, I am," he told her, sounding resigned. "And we might be here a while. Because, frankly, I've got no ideas – none whatsoever."

"Before we do anything, Doctor," she said, leaning on the console near him. "When we were at the Shadow Proclamation, one of those really pale people said something to me."

"Oh, lovely," he sighed. "They got in your head, didn't they? Ugh, they think they can tell the future."

"You mean they can't?"

"Well," he said. "In a manner of speaking. They see things, but in a very vague way. They'll tell you an elephant is coming up the road, and really it's a brick post.

"Doesn't change the fact that you should swerve to the side," she observed

"Very true," he agreed. "What did she say to you?"

"She said that I'm going to have to fight," Martha confessed. "Not alongside you, but in order to keep you."

His brow furrowed. "Hm, that's strange wording. If they want you to keep me from dying, why didn't they just say so?"

She smiled bitterly and scoffed. "I don't think that's what she meant, Doctor."

"What, then?"

She stared at him incredulously, her jaw hanging just slightly. Then she put her weight on one hip and crossed her arms over her chest. "You know, for someone who's been around for nine hundred years, you're awfully..."

She was interrupted by a soft tinkling sound. Her brow furrowed for a moment, until she realised what it was. The Doctor started forward in response as Martha dug her phone out of her pocket, threw it open and desperately asked of it, "Mum?"

Her face scrunched as she listened to the _ding-ding, ding-ding_ coming over the line. "What is it?" asked the Doctor.

In lieu of an answer, she handed the phone to him. He listened. "It's just a signal."

"Can you trace it?"

"Oh, just watch me!"

His tongue stuck out the side of his mouth like a kid's as he yanked his stethoscope from his pocket, put in the ear pieces and pressed the listening device to the phone. It lay on the console as the Doctor took its pulse, and to Martha, it looked like a tiny person waiting to be rescued. She wondered if she was, perhaps, projecting.

"Got it!" shouted the Doctor after a few moments. "Locking on!"

The TARDIS began to jostle violently, and the Doctor and Martha grabbed onto the console for dear life. The interior of the vessel caught fire as it occupants were nearly thrown to the floor.

"What's happening?" she shouted.

"We're travelling through time," he shouted back. "One second into the future!"

"What? We travel to the future all the time and the TARDIS doesn't go up in flames!"

"It's not the same," he insisted. "The phone call's pulling us through – temporal friction that the TARDIS' heart can usually help to avoid!"

Suddenly, the air was oppressive, and Martha felt like she was being shrink-wrapped. She had felt this way once before, when travelling from the end of the universe back to 2007 using Captain Jack's Vortex Manipulator. But that had been instantaneous – this was like being slowly steamrolled. Clearly, the Doctor felt the same way, because he began to yell. Before she knew that she was doing it, she was yelling as well. It was a struggle to hold on, but one by one, the twenty-seven planets, Earth included, began appearing upon the screen.

When the TARDIS came to a halt, the flames died down leaving no trace, the air went back to normal and she fell against him, panting with relief. They took a moment to hug, Martha taking in the feeling of being whole. As they held each other, they both stared at the monitor.

"One second?" she asked. "One second and we couldn't see twenty seven_ entire planets_?"

He nodded, letting go of her. "Everything within the Medusa Cascade has been put one second out of sync with the rest of the universe. Perfect hiding place – tiny little pocket of time, but we found them!"

"They knew it would be you after them," she said. "They had to be clever. Thought they could outwit you." She smiled at him proudly.

A high-pitched squeal came over a speaker in the instruments on the console. The screen went to snow as an image struggled to come through. "Ooh, what is that?" asked the Doctor. He pulled a lever or two, forcing the image into focus. "It's some sort of subwave network."

On the upper left, he saw his own face, with Martha's in the background. To the right of that, Captain Jack stood laughing with relief. Below, he could see Sarah Jane Smith, and beside her, Rose Tyler. The Doctor gulped.

"Where the hell have you been?" Jack shouted.

All parties on the screen began speaking at once. The Doctor and Martha smiled at the screen, relieved to be back in time with the Earth.

"Rose!" he emoted, once the din had died. "Where are you?"

"She's at my parents' house!" Martha exclaimed in disbelief. "What are you doing there? Is my mum all right?"

"She's fine, don't worry," Rose assured her. "I just came to find her because I knew she'd know how to find _you_, and we needed _him_."

"I'm here, darling," her mum's voice said. A second later, Francine appeared in the frame with Rose with two mugs in-hand. Her eyes were worried, and to Martha's surprise, the expression choked her up a bit. "Martha, thank God. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, mum, we're both fine," she answered. "Where's dad?"

"He's in Amsterdam, but he's fine too."

Suddenly the screen went snowy again, and the Doctor groaned in annoyance.

"Did we lose them? Mum!" Martha shouted.

"There's another signal coming through," he said. "Rose! Jack, boost the signal! Hello? Who's out there?"

A pause, and then a deep, gravelly voice came over the system. Its tenor gave Martha the chills, and when the Doctor heard it, she saw him visibly bristle.

"Your voice is different, and yet its arrogance is unchanged," it said. The Doctor brought the horrible face into focus. The thing looked like a decomposing corpse in dry heat, its eyes sewn shut and a single bright blue eye in the forehead. "Welcome to my new empire, Doctor. It is only fitting that you should bear witness to the resurrection and the triumph of Davros, Lord and Creator of the Dalek race."

The Doctor gaped at the screen, his breathing gone ragged. His body was bent and stiff, and Martha could see little beads of sweat forming on his brow.

"Doctor," she whispered, taking his arm. "Whatever it is, it's okay. Daleks – we can take them, we've done it before. It's going to be all right."

"Have you nothing to say?" asked Davros.

"But you were destroyed in the very first year of the Time War at the Gates of Elysium," the Doctor said, teeth clenched, unbelieving. "I saw your command ship fly into the jaws of the Nightmare Child. I tried to save you."

"But it took one stronger than you in the end. Dalek Caan himself."

"Dalek Caan?" asked Martha. "Wasn't he..."

"The last Dalek left in Manhattan," the Doctor finished.

"Emergency temporal shift took him into the Time War itself," Davros explained. In the background, Martha heard the voice of a Dalek, clearly, but it sounded sing-song, as though it had gone absolutely insane. It mused over the horrors of war and described it as a "dance," as though it were a deranged nursery rhyme, and implied that it had relived the same moment of death hundreds of times.

Davros pointed out that the trip back in time had cost Caan his mind, then spent some time gloating over Caan's success, accomplishing something that a Time Lord could not. In the end, he had rebuilt the Dalek race from the cells of his own body, and revealed to the Doctor his terrible hollowed-out chest where the ribs were exposed and one could see the heart beating. He had given of himself to the highest degree... to his _children_.

"After all this time," the Doctor whispered. "Everything we saw, everything we lost, I have only one thing to say to you."

Martha waited for a moment of profound wisdom, for a concise set of words that would sum up the situation and reveal so much about the Doctor's history with Davros. Though, she knew that her Doctor was not frequently concise...

...though he proved her wrong.

"Bye!" he shouted, slamming forward on the gears, displacing the TARDIS and darkening the terrible image on the screen.

Martha screamed as she was thrown backwards into the navigator's seat, and the Doctor grabbed onto her, which dislodged his hold on himself. They tumbled to the floor, and once again, Martha's phone rang from its position on the console. She yanked herself up to a kneeling position and grabbed for it.

"What?" she asked. "Jack, I'm a bit busy!"

"What the hell was that?" Jack asked. "I heard this creepy voice, and then everything went to snow."

"You heard all that?"

"No, just maybe ten seconds. Who was it?"

"Er, the creator of the Daleks, I guess," she told him, screaming once again as she rolled to the side and the Doctor tried to catch her wrist. She wondered absently how many times she'd been forced to hold on for dear life in the TARDIS – literally and figuratively.

"Creator? Holy crap... are you sure?"

Just then, the TARDIS' movement became much more smooth and slow, and Martha said, "Whoa, what just happened?"

"What do you mean?" asked Jack.

"The TARDIS fled," the Doctor explained. "It feels we're out of danger now. Or something."

"We were having turbulence," Martha said for Jack's benefit. "Now we're not. Look, can I ring you back later?"

"No!" he shouted. "Don't hang up! I just need you to do one thing for me."

"What?"

"There's an instrument on the TARDIS console, it's about fourteen, fifteen inches to the left of the monitor base near the Gulion Circuit. Do you see? It's a number read-out."

She stepped to the side and looked. "Yeah, I see."

"It's a string of numbers that keep changing, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"The fourth number is oscillating between two digits – what are they?"

"Four and nine."

The Doctor's neck snapped to the side and his eyes went wide with alarm. "No no no no no!" he yelled at her. "Don't tell him that!"

"Why? What does it mean?"

Jack's voice was dripping with satisfaction. "It's the teleport base code – it's all I need to get this thing working again. Thank you, Martha Jones. Tell the Doctor he'll thank me someday as well." The line went dead just before the Doctor grabbed the phone from Martha and began shouting at it.

She chuckled. "Doctor, he's cut the line."

"He's going to start space hopping again!"

"So? He's just trying to find _you_!"

"I can't have him doing that! How many times do I have to break that thing?"

"Well, it's not like he's a novice at it," she said. She looked at the screen, which was back to its normal mishmash of grids and numbers and Gallifreyan symbols. "Where are we?"

"London," he sighed.

"So, once more into the breach, then."

He smiled sideways. "Story of our lives."

"Do you have a plan?" she asked, her voice and eyes betraying fear, in spite of her complete confidence in him, and in the future. An army of Daleks invading her home planet did not exactly do wonders to calm her weary spirit.

He sighed heavily once more. "My plan was to find the Earth, and here it is. Now, I guess we gather the troops, get some intel, find out what our resources are and..." he exhaled and then smiled awkwardly at Martha.

"So, pretty much business as usual?"

"I wish I could give you more."

She smiled. "You give me plenty," she assured him. She took a step and sank again into his arms, knowing that this might be their last chance, at least for a while, to enjoy a moment like this. They kissed softly at first, then with a bit more of their souls. Martha, if she was honest with herself, was terrified. She knew that something was going to threaten this life, this love, this perfect abandon she'd found with the Doctor. In the face of apocalyptic disaster, something as stupid as a jealous blonde seemed an unlikely scenario for ripping the love of her life away from her, but, she reminded herself, this was no ordinary love. She knew that she would kill or die for him – why should she assume that Rose would do any less?

But for a horrible moment, she wondered what the hell she would do if it was something worse. What if he was going to get pulled into a time lock or a void bubble or some sort of secret Dalek dungeon which was out of sync with the Earth's linear timeline? She had absolutely no idea how to fight something like that, much less win! From that perspective, a little catfight didn't seem like such a hard thing to face.

Not that she was, in any way, looking forward to what the following hours would bring. Unless the Daleks changed their minds right now and turned back time, they all had a hard, emotional road ahead. She resolved simply to be as strong as possible, take comfort where she could find it, and fight as hard and as best as she could for whatever she and the Doctor thought was right. No one could ask for more from her.

The Doctor broke the kiss, and took her cheeks in her hands. He seemed to be having some of the same thoughts: it will be a while before we'll have this chance again. He smiled and kissed her on the forehead. "I love you," he said. "Just... know that, okay? No matter what happens, I love you."

She strained against tears threatening to spill. Those words from his lips – they were like a song. "I love you too," she responded, turning her head to kiss his wrist.

"Ready?"

"No."

"Let's go," he said, taking her hand.

They exited the TARDIS on a ghostly London street. The place was empty, dark, and damp, cars parked in the middle of the street with their doors still open from when people had bailed out in terror.

"God," Martha whispered. "It's like that Stephen King novel, the one with the plague."

"Where is everyone?" the Doctor asked, casting about for survivors, gawkers, anyone. He turned and looked up the street past Martha. "I don't like this – there's no one! Absolutely no-one is in sight!"

But he was wrong. Martha saw her in the distance beneath a dim lamplight. She was far away, little more than a dot, but Martha could tell it was her. And she couldn't help but sigh. _Here we go_.

"Well," she said to the Doctor. "There's her."

He looked at Martha, and she pointed. He turned, and his breath caught in his chest.

When Rose saw his face, even across all that distance, Martha could see her smile.


	28. Reunions

REUNIONS

"_Doctor, I wish you'd warned me to stay out of the shadows long ago, 'cause it was murder being in hers! Martha Jones! The beautiful, talented, brilliant, __doctor__, Martha Jones! Do you know you're perfect in every way? 'Cause I do. Reminded of it every day for over a year! And did you know that the __angels wept__ when he kissed you the first time? And did you know that when he lost you, a void grew in his life so wide and so deep that __no one __could fill it? And did you know that he told me point-blank that I was __not__ a replacement for you? That he threatened to take me home after every single adventure we had, just because I wasn't Martha Jones?"_

This was the scene that played out in Martha's head as Rose made her way slowly down the street.

She supposed that little speech had been cathartic for River Song, though she knew that the professor had regretted it later. She had apologized, and then confessed her feelings, complained, commiserated and justified. Fortunately, Martha had had the broad sight and experience to understand River's frustration, and not to take it too personally. Another woman might have bristled and let a fight break out. Martha had sworn to herself that day that she would never put herself in that position, that if she ever got the chance to confront Rose Tyler, she would play it with dignity. Rose would not understand; therefore, Martha had to be the bigger person.

But then the pale woman from the Shadow Proclamation had put a bug in her ear, and in her terror, she had almost forgotten about River Song and the lessons she'd learned from meeting her. She had almost allowed herself to give in to the idea that if it came to it, she'd fight tooth-and-nail for the Doctor, for _her _Doctor. Of course, she still would, but she now re-affirmed her resolve never to lose her temper nor let her petty side show. Besides, as the Doctor had pointed out to River Song, _he _was the one at fault, and he and Martha had come a long way in resolving their Rose issues. When she thought about it, Martha realised that Rose was an innocent in this, more or less, and therefore, should be spared.

Spared, but not allowed to win. There was a difference.

And there she was, all blonde hair and lips, walking down the street. Her smile had faded, and had morphed into a tight-jawed, barely contained sob. Everything she was feeling was written on her face. As a matter of fact, everything about her was barely-contained; Martha could practically _feel _her desperation, her explosive happiness, and also a crushing sadness. Her gait suggested that she would both like to collapse into a heap on the pavement, and also take off running so as to reach the Doctor sooner.

He stood motionless. He faced Rose straight-on, his face looking forlorn with remembrance, his hands in his pockets, waiting. Martha could see that he was lost in a world of memories, of guilt and madness, of a torn life, of indecision. Something about him also suggested a hemorrhaging urgency, but he kept it all in. Rose was only a block away now, almost close enough to touch.

Martha touched his back. "Go," she whispered. "Meet her halfway."

He turned and looked at her, almost spoke, but could not. He walked forward slowly. When he and Rose were near to each other, she unstrapped the large weapon she was carrying and laid it on the concrete. Without stopping nor missing a beat, they fell into a hug, and Martha could hear Rose sobbing. The Doctor was speaking low, but she could not understand his words. They were not meant for her – she would resist the urge to ask about them.

The moment was cut short by a crackling, evil cry of, "Exterminate!"

The Doctor was quick to react, dashing away from Rose, but not toward Martha, before either one of the girls could even register where the cry had come from. But the Dalek had the element of surprise, and suddenly the upper half of the Doctor's body lit up with a horrible blue glow, his bones were momentarily visible, and then he was on the ground.

Martha's eyes were drawn to the right, toward the Dalek, its killer ray now trained on Rose. Martha's voice rung out in warning, but before the metal thing could do any more damage, its head was blown off by a fourth party's weapon. Rose and Martha both gaped in disbelief at Captain Jack as he lowered the giant gun, similar to Rose's. Under normal circumstances, he might have quipped about the size of his weapon, but today was a different sort of day.

Rose reached the Doctor first, and she took up his head in her hands. She wasn't able to get him to sit up, and as Martha jogged forward, her vision clouded with tears, she heard him groan.

"Don't die," Rose begged. "No, no, don't die!"

"It missed him… it didn't get him completely…" Martha said, crying but trying to stay strong. "Did you see?"

Rose looked at her uncomprehendingly, and shook her head.

Martha fell to her knees beside the Doctor, trying to help Rose prop him up. "Doctor, can you hear me? Please say something!"

"Martha," he croaked out, then groaned again, nearly losing consciousness.

Both girls gasped with fear, and their chests pulled tight round their lungs as tears spilled down their cheeks. They tugged harder to keep him upright as his body slumped lower and his strength drained away.

"Get him into the TARDIS," Jack shouted, appearing suddenly beside them. "Quick! Move!"

Rose and Martha each got under one of the Doctor's arms, and together, they heaved him up to as close to a standing position as possible. The whole transaction was extremely awkward, as the Doctor's legs would not move, and the current plan would have him dragging his shins on the street.

"This is stupid, he's way too tall," Martha said. "Jack, take his shoulders."

He flung his gun over his back and let Martha and Rose deposit the Doctor's upper body into his arms. Martha picked up the scuffed trainers from the damp pavement, and the feet and legs attached. "Rose, grab your gun. The TARDIS key is in my back right pocket, can you get it?"

Rose's index finger dipped inside Martha's pocket and she felt the string straight away. She picked up her weapon and ran toward the TARDIS to get the door.

The Doctor was still groaning when they dropped him on the metal grate in the TARDIS. His eyes were unseeing, his teeth clenched. Jack took Rose's gun as Martha stroked the Doctor's forehead and hair. "I don't know what to do for you, Doctor," she whimpered. "Just tell me, and I'll do it! I only know how to treat humans… tell me what to do for _you_."

"Just step back," Jack said. The girls didn't move. "Both of you, do as I say and get back! He's dying, and you know what happens next."

Martha's eyes snapped up to meet Jack's. "Oh… God."

"Yes," Jack said, knowing that Martha understood. He remembered explaining the process of regeneration to her back when the Master had changed.

"He can't," Rose sobbed, the words barely escaping. "I did all that… I came all this way… it's not supposed to be like this!"

Martha stood up and came around, tugging Rose's arm. "Come on, just let him do his thing."

Rose pulled away. "He can't change! Oh, God, I shouldn't have come here, this is all my fault!"

"Rose," Martha scolded, grabbing her arm again. "He's still going to be the same man. Now stop it, or you're going to kill him for real!"

The Doctor's face twisted with pain, and he let out an anguished cry. He extended his arm and his hand began to glow with orange light. At this, Rose lost all composure and began to scream. Jack grabbed her around the waist with one arm and hauled her away from the Doctor, Martha following. "Here we go! Good luck, Doctor!"

"But this is all wrong! You can't – not now, not yet!" Rose shouted.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor choked out, dragging himself to his feet. He leaned on the console for support, his legs completely failing to do their job. "It's too late. I'm regenerating."

Suddenly, his body was pulled upright, and giant sprays of orange light burst from his hands and head like liquid energy. Martha turned and hid her face in Jack's coat, her body tight with the sobbing, and she could feel Rose on Jack's other side doing the same. She had had no chance to say goodbye, no closure and no idea what to expect. All she knew was that Time Lords change into "new men" when they die, and the man she loved would soon be gone. He'd have a different disposition, a different voice and he'd look like someone else. As though she were the one dying, her life with the Doctor seemed to flash before her eyes.

She remembered her first glimpse of him removing his tie in the street, and then seeing him half an hour later sitting incongruously in a hospital bed. She remembered the adorable wink he'd given her when she discovered that he had two hearts, and the rush of adrenaline she'd felt when he'd cocked an eyebrow and said, "Fancy going out?" She remembered looking into his eyes for the first time at the inn in 1599, and how brave he'd looked inviting the Daleks to "baptise" their hybrids by killing off the last of the Time Lords. She remembered gulping down the shock of seeing him dressed in a tux for the first time, and the pain of watching him ignore her (more than usual) while he was buried beneath the schoolteacher John Smith. She remembered sleeping beside him every night while they were trapped in 1969 – sleeping, never touching. She remembered something like this moment, watching the Master suck the life away from him and transform him into an old man with none of the verve or energy or impetus of her Doctor. She remembered deciding to walk away, and how his brutal handsomeness had stolen her breath _again_ as she came back into the TARDIS for what she thought would be the last time. She thought about his neck on the other side of that tee-shirt he wore sometimes, and how kissable it was. She saw his lips in her mind's eye, sucking lemon juice from his fingers. And then she could feel them on her, circling her clavicle with nips and kisses, probing her mouth in the cornfield, moving up and down her body in Hervang. It was all going. In a flash of orange light, she was going to lose it.

She was about to lose her Doctor.

No. She had to fight to keep him. Hadn't she been told this?

"Doctor!" she cried out, prying herself loose from Jack's grasp.

* * *

A white sports car came careening round the corner, far too quickly. The occupant within was tearful and desperate, unthinking of the consequences. She had survived this long being inquisitive and and adaptable and brave, taking strength from her grief and confidence from her fear. Thirty years she'd been running on the Doctor's infectous adrenaline, what was the worst that could happen now?

Her question was answered when two metal-encased alien creatures met her, creating a barrier across the street. Sarah Jane Smith slammed on her brakes, and her eyes went as wide as dinner plates. Briefly, she contemplated ploughing through them with her car, but she knew from experience that two things would happen: she would be exterminated before the car even got near them, and then the car would crash into the Daleks without even having so much as dented them.

"All human transport is forbidden," one of them told her in its horrible, deranged, high-pitched electronic voice.

"I surrender!" she shouted, holding up her hands. "I'm sorry!"

"Daleks do not accept apologies. You will be exterminated!"

She screamed and threw her arms up in front of her face as if to protect herself. Daft, she knew, but she had no other recourse.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blue flash surround her. And then something happened that she had never witnessed, in thirty years of dealing with aliens. Daleks crying _exterminate_ and ramping up for the kill, were, in fact, exterminated themselves. Two great rays of light burst forth from either side of the car, blowing the tops off both Daleks in a spectacular spray of fire and sparks.

She looked to either side of the car, trying to see from where the miracle had sprung. When she saw the man on her right, she could not believe her eyes. Her jaw dropped and she climbed slowly out of the car, as a slow smile spread across Mickey Smith's face.

"Mickey!" she breathed.

"Us Smiths got to stick together," he said, putting his arm around her comfortingly. She marveled at how much his demeanour had changed in the two and a half years since she'd seen him. He was like a different man – even the furrowed brow gave it away. This boy had seen some things.

From the other side of the car, a woman came round and practically accosted Sarah Jane. "Jackie Tyler, Rose's mum. Now where the hell is my daughter?"

Sarah Jane opened her mouth, but before she could tell this woman when last she'd seen Rose, another voice interrupted them.

"Excuse me?" it said. "Who are you again?"

Jackie tipped her head, pointing her chin at the newcomer. "Who wants to know?"

"I'm Donna," she said. "Donna Noble. Did you say you're Rose Tyler's mother?"

"Yes, what of it?"

Donna's face lit up, and she began to laugh jubilantly. "Finally! After all this time, I've found _someone_!"

Jackie looked at her with disdain, her face scrunched as only she was capable. "What the hell are you on about? Who are you?"

Still smiling toothily, Donna told her, "I've been looking for the Doctor! Or at least someone who can lead me to him. That's you lot, yes?"

Mickey, Jackie and Sarah Jane just stared at her.

"What?" she asked.

"We're all looking for the Doctor, too," Sarah Jane told her. "We're not exactly in-the-know right now either."

Donna shrugged. "Whatever. It's a start, at least. Four heads are better than one."

"I'm sorry – how do you know the Doctor?" ashed Sarah Jane. "Did you travel with him?"

"Wish I had," Donna confessed, sitting down upon the hood of the white sports car. "He invited me to, and I turned him down."

"Why would you do that?" Mickey asked bluntly.

"Because he scared me to death," Donna said. "He was so… fierce. Just a scary, scary man."

Jackie and Sarah Jane looked at each other. "Scary?" Jackie asked. "Since when?"

Donna looked at her. "Since he lost your daughter, I reckon. He was… well, he was pretty much beside himself when I met him."

Mickey sighed, annoyed. He'd been experiencing the same thing from the other side, the taciturn Rose with her dark moods.

"But I didn't see then how wonderful he is, as well," Donna said, wistfully. "I didn't see how wonderful it could be, and how crap my life is here. Chiswick. Nothing ever happens except I go to work, come home… occasionally I have a loved one killed by a giant spider, and then it's the same old. I kick myself every time I think of what could have been. It's why I want to find the Doctor again."

Sarah Jane sympathised. She knew exactly what it felt like to be left behind by the greatest man in the universe. "You'll find him, Donna. We all will. And then who knows?"

"Yeah, well, good luck with that," Jackie said. "Apparently, he's travelling with someone new now."

"Right!" said Sarah Jane. "She's called Martha! That's her mobile phone we were calling, yes?"

"I was calling too!" Donna announced. "I helped!"

"Yeah well, this Martha's got Rose all twisted up on the inside, so I'm thinking this Martha isn't just a co-pilot to the Doctor," Jackie remarked.

"And you'd be right," Mickey said. "It's all wrapped up in timelines and alternative scenarios and _meant to be_… Rose had to go into _another_ parallel world and repair a splinter in time, and to do that, she had to make sure that the Doctor wound up with Martha. And not just travelling with Martha… he had to be _with _Martha. She was told that no other scenario would work. Boy, did she scream and yell over that one. She cried for a week before she started making the trips."

"You were a trooper, Mickey," Jackie said, stroking his back. "I don't know how you put up with that."

"Used to it by now."

"Aren't you lot supposed to be trapped in a parallel world?" Donna asked. "I mean, how do you know all this? How do you know about this Martha, and splintered timelines and what's meant to be in our world?"

"It's a long story," Jackie said. "I don't really understand it."

"Our world is a few years ahead," said Mickey. "And technologically more advanced. We've got these machines… wait. What did you say your name was?"

"Donna."

"Oh God," Mickey sighed.

"What?"

"You really should go home, Donna."

"Don't be so daft," Donna spat. "What's your game, anyway?"

* * *

Martha, Jack and Rose stared in awe a regenerated Doctor explained the mechanics of the energy transfer. And their awe came from the fact that he looked exactly the same as when he'd begun the process. This was highly unlikely, Jack knew. What were the odds that a Time Lord would regenerated and produce the same face and body twice in a row?

Oh, and there was a hand in a jar on the floor, but that was nothing new.

Martha was immeasurably relieved, if confused. She had done nothing to help stop the regeneration – what could she have done? But it had stopped nonetheless. She knew it was shallow, but she could not let him go, not like that. Not him, not _her_ Doctor. She loved that face, those eyes, that hair, that mouth, the body she had _just_ got to know. Human beings are visual, visceral creatures, more so than some other species, and they become attached to the way things look. And she was very, very attached to a tall, dark-haired, thin man in pinstripes.

She took a couple of steps forward and reached out. The palm of her hand met with his lapels and she pushed, just to make sure he was real. Just the simple physical sensation of feeling his person resist against the pressure she was putting on him was a relief. He watched her hands on his jacket, and smiled at her. Martha herself smiled a relieved smile and fell forward, and he gathered her up in his arms.

"You feel the same," she whispered.

"I _am_ the same," he told her.

She was relieved, and she gave herself permission to feel thankful that her handsome Doctor had not changed a bit. But she also knew that there were dangers still to come. Since she had done no _fighting_ to keep him, the threat to them was not gone.

"Still you?" Rose ventured, softly.

The Doctor met Rose's eyes over the top of Martha's head. He saw the sadness there, and wondered if perhaps Rose had been _wishing_ for a regeneration, a fresh start with a new Doctor, as she had had before. He nodded to her, that yes, he was still himself, for better or for worse. Rose gave him a weak smile, and then leaned subtly against Jack, who put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her. Because, in the moment when the Doctor's eyes met Rose's, he understood. The relationship between the Doctor and Martha had changed since last he'd seen them, and somehow, Rose had been written out of the equation.

"It's okay," Rose whispered back. "It's meant to be this way."

"You okay?"

"Coping."

Martha and the Doctor were having their moment, but they both heard everything. And Martha's confusion returned. If Rose felt that _this_ was meant to be, then what was to come?


	29. In The Dark

IN THE DARK

The phone rang in Martha's pocket. She pulled herself out of the Doctor's arms and looked at the display. It was a name and number she did not recognise. Rose seemed alarmed, but then again, it had been a rather alarming day for her.

"Er, hello?" Martha said into the receiver.

"Hello, is this Martha Jones?" a woman's voice said.

Martha hesitated. She did not recognise the voice, and she thought that everyone who could _help_ the situation was here in the TARDIS, so what good could come of identifying herself? "Who wants to know?" she asked.

To Martha's surprise, Rose approached and put her head next to Martha's so she could listen to the call. Martha tipped the phone sideways to let her.

"I'm a friend of the Doctor's," the woman said. "Is the Doctor with you?"

"Who are you?" asked Martha.

"My name is Donna Noble. Is the Doctor with you right now?"

Rose looked at Martha meaningfully, with dread, and subtly shook her head.

"No," Martha lied. "He's not."

"Damn," Donna spat. "Do you know where he is? You must do – aren't you travelling together?"

"Yes, but…" Martha looked at Rose for help. Rose shrugged.

"What's going on?" the Doctor wanted to know. The girls ignored him.

"But what?" Donna asked, on edge. She was loud, as Martha remembered from her experience in the Trickster's world. "Has something happened to him? Is he safe?"

"He's safe," Martha said. "But he's out."

There was a large sigh on the other end. "Out, is he? Popped to the market for a quart of milk?"

She had alerted Donna to danger somehow – the woman was clever, a good people-reader. Rose whispered, emphatically and almost silently, "Just keep her away! She can't be here."

Martha nodded. "He's just out. That's all I'm going to say. Now do yourself a favour and go hug your loved ones, and stay safe inside. Everything is under control!" With that, she shut her phone, not knowing what to do or say next.

Rose looked at her with concern in her eyes.

"I just made it worse, didn't I?" Martha asked her.

"Maybe."

"What _was_ that?" asked the Doctor. When neither Martha nor Rose said anything, he looked at Jack. Jack just gave him an expression that seemed to say _yikes _and then he held up his hands in the universal signal for _I'm staying out of it_. The Doctor added, "Look, it's weird enough just having the two of you in the same room, and now you're making me very, very paranoid. Please tell me what that call was about."

"It was Donna Noble," Rose told him reluctantly.

"Donna? What's she want?"

"What do you think? To talk to you."

Martha's phone rang again, and she looked at the display. "It's her again."

"Don't answer it," Rose instructed.

"Who's Donna?" asked Captain Jack.

Absently, the Doctor answered, "She's someone I met a couple of years ago. Helped her out of a jam. Her fiancé had been in cahoots with a giant spider. Donna saved me from drowning. Then I made it snow."

Jack's brow scrunched down, and he said, "Oh great. That clears it right up."

"The point is," said Rose. "She knows the Doctor, and she knows what kind of trouble we're in, so she wants to find him. She probably thinks she can help."

"So why did you just blow her off?" asked Jack.

Martha and Rose looked at each other. "Because," said Martha. "Something bad happens to her if she gets involved. I don't know what."

"Something bad's probably going to happen to many of us," Jack said. "Doesn't stop us. Maybe we could use an extra pair of hands."

Something about Jack's choice of words made Rose shudder. "Would you just trust me?" She looked from the Doctor to Jack and back again.

"Rose, what is this? What happens to her?" the Doctor wanted to know. He took two steps forward and crossed his arms.

"Have you ever seen the film _Flowers for Algernon_?" she asked.

"Read the book, why?"

But that was when the lights went dark in the TARDIS, and everyone felt the jolt.

They heard a raging Dalek cry of, "Temporal prison initiated!" from outside, and they could feel themselves being pulled across the universe. The three humans and one Time Lord inside all looked at each other with resignation.

"There's a massive Dalek ship at the centre of the planets," Jack said. "They're calling it The Crucible. Guess that's our destination."

"Okay then, I guess we'd better start working out what it is these Daleks are trying to do," Martha said, crossing her arms in determination.

"Rose, you've been in a parallel world, that world is running ahead of this universe. You've seen the future, what was it?" the Doctor asked.

She sighed. "It's the darkness. Stars going out one by one. We looked up at the sky and they were just dying," she said.

"You never said," Martha whispered to her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because, we had to explore other options, what could be done, what timelines could be repaired," she said. "In the process of that is how you and I first met."

"In the Trickster's world," Martha said.

Rose nodded. "My job was to get you back where you needed to be. And that's here. Apart from the universe in peril, my task was to save the Doctor. But, as you know, it's not over yet."

"But you said that the Doctor saves he universe either way," Martha said. "Was that the truth?"

"Mostly, yes," she said. Rose turned to the Doctor. "Basically we've been building this travel machine… this dimension cannon."

"I see," he said, clearing his throat, stealing a glance at Martha, which was not lost on her.

Rose decided to say to Martha what the Doctor would not. "We did that because I wanted to come back and travel with the Doctor again."

"Of course you did," Martha said, sympathetically.

"Anyway," Rose turned back to the Doctor. "Suddenly, it started to work, and the dimensions started to collapse. And not just in our world, not just in yours, but the whole of reality. Even the void was dead. Something was destroying everything."

"So what's that got to do with Donna?" asked the Doctor.

"The dimension cannon can measure timelines, and they were all seeming to converge on Donna Noble," she said. "We were seeing three possible scenarios. One in which you never met her – that was the worst. It meant that what happened in our universe – the stars going out, the whole of reality beginning to die – happens everywhere because…"

"She saved my life that day," the Doctor muttered.

Martha gasped. "And if you never met her, it means that you die then, and you don't stop the Daleks."

"Right, and London gets nuked by the _Titanic_, the world chokes on Sontaran clonefeed, all sorts of fun stuff," said Rose. "Another scenario had you meet Donna Noble when you did, and she saves your life. But then after Martha leaves, you travel with Donna again, and…"

"Something all _Flowers for Algernon_ happens to her," the Doctor finished. "A fate worse than death?"

"For both of you, and it happens in the midst of all this Dalek business," Rose said, then sighed heavily. "It became clear that the only thing that would work for you was that…"

Rose stopped, and everyone in the room could see she was holding back from crying. In fact, it was the only thing currently happening that Captain Jack fully understood. So he stepped up and tried to comfort her.

She let him hug her, and then she finished her thought. "The only thing that would work for you, Doctor, the only thing that would save everyone, save Donna, save you, save the universe, was if I leave you at Canary Wharf like I did, you meet Donna, then you meet Martha, and Martha stays."

The Doctor's face was abuzz with realisation. "Because if you had stayed with me, I wouldn't have put the TARDIS' defences down around that supernova to say goodbye to you, and Donna couldn't have appeared inside!"

"And then depending on a number of other variables, either the Racnoss kill Donna and take over the Earth, or you get called to Earth somehow to deal with the Racnoss, but Donna isn't around save your life. Or, if she is, then she doesn't care about you because you're strangers."

"Blimey!" he exclaimed burying his hands in his hair. "And then to keep Donna safe, she has to _not_ travel with me, which is why Martha has to be here instead!"

Martha could not stifle the great sigh that came from her then. The Doctor looked at her, realising what he'd said. He opened his mouth to reassure her of the myriad of other reasons why she needed to be with him, but the whole situation was just incredibly awkward. He felt almost crippled with both Martha and Rose in the same room, as though he couldn't say what he liked to either of them for fear of offending the other.

This was something else that Captain Jack understood. The timeline stuff he would get straight later – as in, what the hell is the Trickter's world and how had Martha and Rose met before? It sounded like they had had some kind of confab without the Doctor involved, but that made absolutely no sense. He also wanted to know more about the love triangle here. He could see clearly that Rose had been written out of the story, and that some profound thing had come over the Doctor to realise that he loved Martha as she loved him, and somehow, Rose felt it was best. But had Rose actually _orchestrated_ it all? That seemed exceedingly unlikely. But did it?

But the Doctor's current feelings, he needed no roadmap for that. He could see the conflict in his eyes. Once again, a companion spoke the words the Doctor could not say just now.

"But Martha," Jack said. "You must know that there are a million reasons why you need to be here – not just because it keeps Donna out of the fray. A million much more _compelling_ reasons."

Martha looked at Jack and smiled.

A _ding ding ding_ sound came from the TARDIS console. The Doctor looked into the monitor and said, "The Dalek Crucible. All aboard."

They all felt another mighty jolt, and outside they heard in trademark Dalekspeak, "The TARDIS is secure."

Another, deeper Dalek voice said, "Doctor, you will step forth or die!"

The Doctor stood before the TARDIS inner door, and muttered, "We'll have to go out. 'Cause if we don't, they'll get in."

"You told me nothing could get through those doors," Rose said.

"You've got extrapolator shielding." Captain Jack added.

Martha, standing near the console, let her fingers drift slowly over the yellow button which she knew would put up the TARDIS' defences. She wouldn't have been able to come up with the words _extrapolator shielding_ on her own, but when Captain Jack had said it, she knew that's what it was. She had heard the Doctor call it that before.

She even pushed the button, but it did not light up. She hadn't expected it to, but it was worth a shot.

To Rose, the Doctor said, "The last time we fought the Daleks, they were scavengers." To Martha, he said, "And hybrids, and mad."

All three companions looked expectantly at the Doctor for his next horrible words.

"But this is a fully-fledged Dalek empire at the height of its power," he said. "Experts at fighting TARDISes, they can do anything. Right now, that wooden door is just wood."

"What about your dimension jumper?" Jack asked Rose.

"It needs another twenty minutes. And anyway, I'm not leaving."

"What about your teleport?" the Doctor asked Jack.

"Went down with the power loss."

"Right then," the Doctor sighed. He'd hoped to get Jack and Rose out of there, at least to avoid all four of them having to walk into the belly of the beast. But that had failed. And he said, "All of us together."

He was not surprised to see Jack, Rose and Martha nod emphatically, as though they had all known the whole time that this is what should happen.

"Surrender, Doctor, and face your Dalek masters!" the deep electronic voice commanded from outside.

The Doctor turned and faced them all. He spoke with a finality that gave Martha the chills. "It's been good though, hasn't it? All of this, all of us… everything we did!" He looked squarely at Rose. "You were brilliant."

She nodded in thanks.

To Jack, he said, "You were brilliant."

Jack smiled.

The Doctor smiled at Martha, and said, "And you were brilliant."

She tried to smile, but did not succeed. It felt like a goodbye.

_Got to fight to keep the Doctor… here we go again._

The Doctor turned back to the TARDIS door and said, "Blimey."

He walked outside, followed by Rose, then Jack. Outside, as she approached behind Jack, she could hear the startling cry of "Daleks reign supreme! All hail the Daleks!" over and over again.

Martha stopped at the threshold just for a moment, and looked back inside the TARDIS. It felt like leaving a flat for the last time, a home one would never see again.

"Martha," the Doctor called. "I need you _out here_."

She moved to step out of the TARDIS, and the door swung shut in front of her. The Doctor banged on the door from the outside, shouting her name and she banged from the inside, but it would not budge. She was trapped.

* * *

"She's not answering again," Donna said, cutting the line from her phone. "She knows it's me now."

"Where's the Doctor?" asked Sarah Jane.

"She wouldn't say," Donna answered. She put one hand on her hip with attitude and insisted, "But I know she knows! Isn't she supposed to be a good guy? Why wouldn't she say?"

"Temporal prison initiated!" was the current cry sailing over the air of Chiswick. The spine-chilling electronic voice of a Dalek delivered this message, though the four warriors on the street didn't think much of it. That is, until the Dalek voice added, "Transferring TARDIS to the Crucible."

Mickey, Jackie, Sarah Jane and Donna all looked at each other, then took off running down a narrow alley. They reached a wide street, lined sideways with Daleks just in time to see the TARDIS being pulled up into the sky and disappear. Hiding behind a red delivery truck, they discussed their options.

"Those teleport things, can we use them?" asked Sarah Jane.

Mickey reached into his pocket and extracted a yellow disc.

"What's that do?" asked Donna.

"It's a sentient molecule converter," Mickey said.

"Blimey, you really have spent some time with that Doctor."

He sighed. "It's a teleport that can read your thoughts. But it's not just a teleport, it rips a hole in the universe."

"And what do you want to use that for?" Donna asked Sarah Jane.

"If the Daleks have taken the Doctor to that spaceship, then that's where we need to be."

Donna's jaw dropped and her eyes went round. After a beat, she asked, "Have you gone completely bonkers?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I haven't," Sarah Jane replied defensively. "Besides, aren't you also desperately trying to get in touch?"

"Yeah, but that was before the bloody TARDIS got taken prisoner! I just want to help – getting captured was not on my agenda for today! How the hell are we going to _help_ the Doctor if we get _captured_ with the Doctor?"

Sarah Jane didn't answer. "Drop your weapons."

"What?" asked Mickey.

"If they see you with a gun, they'll shoot you dead. Daleks!" she called out, standing up, readying to put herself in plain view of the Daleks.

Donna lunged forward, and without thinking, grabbed Sarah Jane around her mouth and pulled her back. Jackie helped wrestle her back into a crouched position while Mickey watched wide-eyed. He made a mental note not to get on the bad side of these three, and reckoned that from now on he needed to spend time with women his own age.

Without taking her hand from Sarah Jane's mouth, Donna said, "Let's get back mine. We can draw up a battle plan there."

"Are you sure we shouldn't just… you know…" Jackie asked, pointing at the Daleks. "If they've got the Doctor, they've got Rose."

"Which side are you on, anyway? Besides, what would we do if we got on-board the Dalek mastership, eh? Apart from die?" Mickey asked.

Jackie sighed and relented. Slowly, Donna released Sarah Jane's mouth. Mickey gave her a pleading look, and motioned for her to join them, and reluctantly, Sarah Jane followed the other three back through the alley and into a house.


	30. In Battle

IN BATTLE

"What did you do?" the Doctor shouted at the strangely large, red Dalek perched on high.

"This is not of Dalek origin," it answered.

To the Doctor's surprise, Martha was not calling for help from inside. Anyone else would be panicked and trying to break down the TARDIS door. "Martha, are you still there? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she answered calmly.

Somehow her composure only inflamed the Doctor's anger. Panic and surging fear he could handle; Martha resigned was something quite new and scary.

"Just stop this!" he shouted at the Dalek. "I need her with me. Open the door and let her out!"

"This is Time Lord treachery."

"Me? The door just closed on its own!"

"Nevertheless," the Dalek said. "The TARDIS is a weapon and it will be destroyed."

The Doctor, Rose and Jack missed the moment when the floor opened up and swallowed the TARDIS with Martha inside, but when they turned around, a split second later, the Doctor's two most cherished friends had vanished. Rose's hands flew to her mouth, covering a little scream, and Jack bit his bottom lip. This was the Doctor's moment for righteous rage, not his own.

The Doctor threw himself at the hole in the floor through which he could no longer see the blue box. "What are you doing? Bring it back!" he demanded, his voice having risen to fevered pitch. "What have you done? Where's it going?"

The big red Dalek answered as always and only a Dalek did. "The Crucible has a heart of Z-Neutrino energy. The TARDIS will be deposited into the core."

A bubbling black fear rose like bile in the Doctor's body. He wanted to explode with anger. "You can't!" he screamed. "The defences are down – it'll be torn apart!"

Seeing her whole mission going down in flames, Rose's composure crumpled as well. Her job was to fix he splintered timeline, and her fondest desire was to see the Doctor happy. All of that was burning up in Z-Neutrino energy somewhere in the heart of the ship. She stalked up to the Dalek, and shouted, "Martha's still in there!"

"The female and the TARDIS will perish together," the Dalek said. "Observe."

A holographic screen appeared behind them, and the Doctor and his two remaining companions turned and watched the TARDIS bob up and down in a veritable sea of raging fire. His fists and teeth were clenched, and he felt pain forming in his jaw and palms. He pictured Martha inside, probably already unconscious from the heat and fumes, her body being tossed around like a ragdoll in the dark, dead console room. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, watching the outer walls of his trusted ship singeing in the flames, knowing the woman he loved was inside, waiting to die horribly, and all alone.

"Please, I'll do anything!" he begged, shouting desperately. "Put me in her place! You can do anything to me, I don't care! Just get her out of there!"

Rose shook her head wildly, took a few steps forward to try to stop the Doctor talking, but his anger was too great. She stopped short of touching him because she understood. The chain of love and pain extended from Martha to the Doctor to Rose, and she knew that he was inconsolable right now, unstoppably rash, because it's how she felt as well.

Predictably, there was no response from the Daleks, and the Doctor turned back to the screen. His body was coiled so tightly that he looked as though he might blast off the ground at any second. He panted, never blinking, nearly drawing blood in his palms.

"You are connected to the TARDIS," said the big Dalek. "Now feel it die!"

The connection between Time Lord and TARDIS, the Daleks could understand. They had studied it for millennia, found ways to exploit it, penetrate it, abuse it. It was a psychic connection, a wave of oscillating sentient energy, a tangible bond that could be created or destroyed, measured and used, almost like matter. And yes, it hurt to watch his beloved Police Box drowning in that inferno.

But the connection between the Time Lord and his human companion, this sort of bond which could not be seen or captured or broken, this they would never understand. Theirs was a bond formed entirely from sentiment and experience, from furtive glances, boiling desire, a climbing, stretching, aching need for another soul, and it was something beyond the reach of a Dalek. And this was part of the tragedy, part of the reason why his grief was so fierce. Martha was a simple casualty; the Daleks had no sense that killing her would cause more pain to the Doctor, she'd simply been trapped inside the TARDIS, and they were throwing her life away along with it. They _could _let her out, but it would never occur to them to do so, no matter how much the Doctor or Jack or Rose begged.

The Daleks were taunting him over the loss of his TARDIS, but had not the finesse to know that the loss of Martha Jones ran to the Doctor's hearts, beyond his mind or body. For the moment, the Doctor was glad of that. If he was going to have to watch Martha Jones and the TARDIS die together, he would rather not have salt poured into a wound that may never, ever heal.

Anything he was holding back went out the window now, as his breathing became a slow chant of Martha's name. He was barely aware of anything else happening in the universe, anywhere, any when, including the tearful blonde standing by, watching. Her pain was off his radar for the moment, as all he felt was for the loss, the ripping out of his life of Martha Jones.

The Daleks began a gluttonous countdown to the death of the Doctor's world. Rose sidled up close to Captain Jack, and he put his arms around her, and they all watched the TARDIS slip under the flames as the Daleks announced its destruction and the Doctor began to rot from the inside.

* * *

"Who are you calling?" Mickey asked Jackie as they crossed the threshold into Donna's mum's house.

"Trying to ring Martha," she said. "Maybe she'll pick up if she doesn't think it's Donna."

"Oi, what is all this?" Sylvia Noble asked, emerging from the kitchen, looking confused. "Who are you lot?"

"Mum, these are just... some people, all right? Just relax."

"Don't tell me to relax! What are they doing in _my _house?"

"They're friends," Donna said. "This is Jackie and Mickey and Sarah Jane. Everyone, this is my mum, Sylvia Noble. Just ignore her, she's a bit on the high-strung side."

"You lot, you know that Doctor?" Wilf asked, having heard the commotion from his bedroom. "Hey! I saw your face on that screen before!" he said when he saw Sarah Jane.

She nodded. "I'm on the subwave network now, I suppose. Friends of the Doctor and all..."

"Are you a friend of the Doctor too?" he asked Jackie.

"Used to be, but can't get through," Jackie said, cutting the line. "There's no answer."

"What, again?" Wilf asked. "I thought he'd been found – I saw his face on that screen too. That _was_ him, wasn't it Donna? The skinny bloke?"

"Yeah, that's him, Gramps," Donna replied.

"Okay. Battle plan. What do we know?" asked Sarah Jane, folding her arms across her torso authoritatively. "We know that the TARDIS has been taken aboard the Dalek ship."

"We know that the Daleks don't respond to reason," Mickey offered. "Fat lot of good."

"We know that Rose is inside," Jackie said. "That's all I care about."

"Correction," said Sarah Jane. "We may be able to _assume_ that Rose is inside. For that matter, we don't even know for sure that the Doctor was inside the TARDIS when it was taken. That's just an assumption as well."

"But it's a reasonable assumption," Donna said. "Do you think they'd have taken it if they weren't sure he was in there?"

"What's a TARDIS?" asked Wilf, joining the circle of people which had formed around the coffee table.

"That's the Doctor's ship," Mickey told him. "It looks like an old-fashioned blue police box, but it's not."

"Oh, like one of those things from the 60's?" Wilf chuckled. "Blimey, what they don't think of, eh?"

"I still think we need to be aboard the Dalek ship," Sarah Jane offered. "Even if we can't help get the Doctor and Rose and Martha, and whoever else is up there, to safety, then maybe at least we can save the TARDIS."

"Right," said Donna. "When the Doctor gets free, he's going to want it back."

"And maybe we can use it to get him back somehow," Jackie said. "That one time, remember, Rose blasted it open and it found the Doctor again?"

"Yeah, but that almost killed her," Mickey said. "I don't think we can do that again. But maybe I could talk to it... I travelled with it before, I could try and get inside its brain or whatever."

"Or me," said Sarah Jane. "I travelled with it longer than you did."

"Why don't you just lay down your weapons and walk out there?" Wilf asked. "Tell them you surrender. They'll take you aboard in a hurry!"

Donna, Mickey and Jackie looked at him as though he'd gone loony. But Sarah Jane said, "You see? That's what I wanted to do!"

"It's what I'd do," Wilf agreed. "It's the fastest way up there, if that's where you want to be. And mind you, I've been behind enemy lines before."

"But they're not just going to take us up there and lead us straight to the TARDIS and say, 'hey, here are your friends, and here's a chance to cut them loose!'" Donna protested. "They're going to lead us to some dungeon with supersonic locks and electronic barriers and then we'll be prisoners just like the Doctor. And then what? Wait to die?"

"No, you're right," Mickey told her. "There's got to be another way."

Jackie pulled her dimension jumper from her pocket. "Wish we could use these things," she said.

"They still need to re-charge," Mickey muttered. "Maybe we could get captured while we wait for them to re-charge, and then use them to jump into the TARDIS."

"How would we find the TARDIS to hop into it?" asked Sarah Jane.

He raised his voice as a realisation hit him. "I can make a call back to our, like, HQ place back home. I can tell them to lock us onto the TARDIS. It's what Rose was planning to do once she got here. Since she hasn't rung us up yet, we can assume it worked."

"Well why didn't you just say so in the first place?" Sarah Jane asked, exasperated. "For the love of God, Mickey, that information could have saved us a lot of time!"

He pulled his mobile from his pocket. "Sorry! I just now remembered!" He went round the corner into the breakfast nook to make the call.

"So, will those dimension jumper thingies work for all four of us?" Donna asked Jackie.

"No, just for me and Mickey," she said. "We have units back home that will transport two at a time, but we didn't think that was safe, so we just brought these."

"Right then," Donna said, putting out her hand. "Hand it over."

"What? No way! My daughter is up there! Anything could be happening to her!"

"Look, I missed my chance to hold onto the Doctor once, I'm not losing it again," Donna insisted.

"Now, just a moment!" Sarah Jane cut in. "I've known the Doctor a damn sight longer than either one of you. I was his most trusted companion for years – neither of you is going in there without me!"

"The TARDIS called me up there once," Donna said. "It actually homed in on me and brought my particles inside. I have a connection with it. If anyone can use it to find the Doctor, it's me!"

"That's bollocks!" Jackie retorted. "Besides, you heard what Mickey said. Something like that almost killed my Rose!"

"I would die for the Doctor, wouldn't you?" asked Donna.

"Not planning on it," Jackie shot back. "But I'd sure as hell die for my daughter!"

"I'd die for the Doctor in a heartbeat," Sarah Jane said. "And he'd die for me."

"He'd die for any one of us, you cow!" Donna said. "That's how he is!"

"Ladies, stop it!" Wilf shouted. "Now, there's no need to resort to name-calling!"

"I'm with him," Mickey said gravely, as he came back round the corner. "We don't have time for this rubbish. We have a serious problem."

"Mickey, what's wrong?" Jackie asked, her voice quavering.

"I'll tell you, but you have to promise me not to freak out."

"I promise," she whispered.

Sarah Jane and Donna's hands went to their mouths in horror.

"The TARDIS is fading from the radar," he said. "It's about to die."

All three ladies gasped. Wilf turned and stroked Donna's arm, trying to comfort her.

"Jackie, call Martha's phone one more time, see if you can get a signal."

They all waited expectantly, but within ten seconds, Jackie was in tears saying, "It's saying the number doesn't exist."

"Right, there's no signal. Whatever's happening to the TARDIS is happening with _at least _Martha inside, possibly the others. But Logan said we still have time to get in there if we do it _now._ And once we get in there, ladies, we have got to move fast," he said. "And I mean _fast_. Which one of you has the best chance of knowing how the TARDIS controls work?"

The women looked at each other. "None of us knows anything about it," said Donna. "Not without the Doctor."

There was silence.

Wilf broke it. "It sounds like you lot may just have to face the possibility that the Doctor is out for the count."

"Okay then," said Mickey. "So who's coming with me?"


	31. Walk Through The Fire

**It's been a busy couple of weeks! I hope you haven't fallen into a pit of despair... mwahaha.**

**Anyway, I'm not sure about this chapter. Tell me how it makes you feel! Other than wanting to sing the song from Buffy...**

* * *

WALK THROUGH THE FIRE

"Now, tell me Doctor," the red Dalek was saying. "What do you feel? Anger? Sorrow? Despair?"

He didn't answer, he just bowed his head. He couldn't speak, couldn't nod, couldn't even scream.

Apparently, the Daleks understood this body language, at least in theory, because it continued, "Then if emotions are so important, surely we have enhanced you."

"Yeah? Feel this!" Captain Jack cried out, and he opened fire with his pistol upon the Dalek. The Doctor moved to take Rose out of the line of fire, because he could see what was about to happen. He wasn't sure why, or what Jack had in mind, but he had an idea that Jack's unique Lazarus-like qualities could be a powerful weapon.

"Exterminate!" the Dalek cried out, and it shot Captain Jack dead on the spot.

"Jack! Oh my God," Rose moaned, dropping to her knees beside her friend, who was face-down on the floor. "Oh no..."

"Rose, leave him," the Doctor whispered, crouching down beside her. He grasped her shoulders, trying to pull her away.

"They killed him!"

"I know. I'm sorry. There's nothing we can do."

She allowed him to help her stand up, and as the tears came in bitter trickles, the Dalek ordered the others to escort their prisoners to the vault, where they would be tormented further by Davros.

What Rose didn't see was that as she and the Doctor left the room, the Doctor and a very alive Captain Jack exchanged a meaningful glance.

* * *

"Martha! Martha! Martha, wake up! Oh, God, she's not breathing! Martha!"

Martha Jones could hear a man's voice calling to her across the distance. Who was it? Not the Doctor, the voice was too deep, and nowhere near frantic enough. Not Captain Jack, this man was definitely English. Dad? Leo? Tom Milligan? Blimey, it was a big world, it could be anyone. Big universe... wow, it really _could_ be anyone. This was a fun game. Was it her old Art history professor from university? Jeff, the guy she'd been dating when she started medical school? Ooh, what if it was Clive Owen? She liked that...

"Marthaaaaaa!" she heard, and then she felt a sharp jolt on her left cheek.

Her eyes flew open, and the face of a man she had never seen before greeted her.

"Oi!" another voice said. "Did you have to hit her? What kind of gentleman are you?"

"Shut up, Donna," the man said. "Desperate times – besides, you shouldn't even be here. Martha, you okay?"

He was cradling her in one arm, and, she assumed, he had slapped her with the other. She wasted no time in crawling away from him. In a few short seconds, she got a good look at him. A black man, nice-looking, with a leather jacket and a scowl. The other voice belonged to Donna Noble, whom she could see through the fog, standing nearby with her hand over her mouth and her other hand swatting at the smoke. Upon looking around, she quickly realised that she was still in the TARDIS, but it was burning. Last she remembered, the lights had gone out, they'd been pulled into the Dalek ship and she'd been trapped inside.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked the man. Suddenly, the lights inside the TARDIS came on, and the time rotor moaned in protest. Donna and her mysterious friend looked up in alarm.

"The lights are back!" Martha shouted. "Yellow button!"

"What?" Donna shouted back.

"Yellow button, Donna!"

Donna turned toward the console with confusion all over her face, and her mouth gaping wide. "There are at least five yellow buttons!"

Martha crawled across the metal floor, killing her hands and knees. The smoke was choking her, and she coughed, gasped for air. She found the yellow button and smashed it with her palm, and it lit up.

The TARDIS stopped moaning in pain, but Martha could still see flames everywhere, including outside the windows. She pulled up one of the floor panels and went below, throwing three fire extinguishers back up into the console room. The three of them began putting out the fires all over the room, and could feel the temperature noticeably drop.

"How did you know how to do that?" Donna asked her, amazed.

"I've seen the Doctor do it a thousand times," Martha said. "It's called extrapolator shielding. The TARDIS' defence system. Keeps out almost anything."

"But why weren't the shields up before? How did the TARDIS get taken?" the man wanted to know.

"Okay, you never answered my question," Martha said, dropping the extinguisher with a loud clang and a tough look on her face. "Who the hell are you?"

"Mickey Smith," he said. "I'm Rose's boyfriend. Travelled with them for a bit."

She softened. "Oh, that must have been a laugh riot," she quipped. "The two of them, back in the day."

"Yeah," he said. "I was the third, fourth _and_ fifth wheel to those two. So... what happened?"

"Well... the TARDIS got taken by the Daleks."

"We saw that," he said. "But I don't understand _how_. Why were the defences not up?"

"The Daleks took them down. The lights went out, the comm units died, even Jack's teleport went kaput. The Doctor says the Daleks are experts at fighting TARDISes, and they can do anything they want."

"Blimey," sighed Mickey. "So why did the lights come back on just now?"

"I don't know."

"Never mind that," Donna intercut. "How did you get trapped in here?"

"I don't know exactly. The TARDIS doors shut and trapped me inside once we got onto the ship, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up from being knocked out," she said.

"Were they trying to kill you, or the TARDIS?" Mickey asked.

She shrugged. "What sort of threat am I? I reckon they were more interested in killing the TARDIS. I heard them say that it's a weapon and needed to be destroyed."

"Maybe they thought it died," Donna offered. "Released the hold they had on it, and the power came back."

"That makes sense," Martha said. Then she seemed to register that Donna was not supposed to be here. "Donna! I told you to stay away!"

Donna was exasperated. "Well, there's gratitude for you! We just saved your life!"

"Why did you bring her here?" Martha asked Mickey. "She can't be here!"

"I know," Mickey said. "_I know_. But... oh, it was ugly. Let's just say I was outnumbered."

"Well we have to get her back to Earth," Martha said. "I don't suppose you know how to fly this thing?"

"Nope," Mickey said. "I'm good with computers, but this is way beyond my ken."

"Good, 'cause I'm not going anywhere. What the _hell_ is that?" asked Donna, pointing at something.

Martha leaned over to look. "It's hand in a jar, what does it look like?"

"Why do you have a hand in a jar in the TARDIS?"

"It's the Doctor's."

"His hand got cut off?" Donna asked.

"Yeah, at Christmas a couple years a go – I dunno, I wasn't there," Martha said distractedly.

"Oh, I was!" Mickey exclaimed. "He grew a new one! How did he find his old hand?"

"_He grew a new one_?" asked Donna, horrified.

"Donna, you're missing the big picture," Martha said, trying to get them back on track. The fact was that if Donna stayed with them, disaster would ensue, she was sure of it, and she had to get the pushy redhead home, no matter how badly she didn't want to go.

"Can he grow back _anything_ that gets cut off?" she asked Martha.

"How many things has he got cut off?" asked Mickey, his face scrunched.

"Why is it glowing?" asked Donna.

"What are you on about?" Mickey said to her. "It's not glowing!"

"It is! Look!"

"You're cracked!"

"Oi!" Martha shouted. "Eye on the ball, people! The fact is, we're in a room full of flames in a ship that none of us knows how to fly. We have weapons which we can't use on anyone or anything right now, no means of communication except for a mobile phone, but who are we going to call? Both the Doctor and Jack are prisoners, and Rose is with them. We're trapped, unless we find a miracle. And on top of everything else, I've got _you_ to worry about!" She was gesturing at Donna.

"What is everyone's problem?" asked Donna, throwing her hands up.

"Donna, she's right, I've been telling you that," Mickey said. "You shouldn't be here!"

Donna wound up for a loud and undoubtedly brutal oratory. "Now look!"

"Okay, just stop right there," Martha said, holding up one hand. "One way or another, you're trapped here with us for now, so just save your breath."

And then something happened that none of them expected, and all three of them stared in awe, in fear, in surprise.

There had been a knock at the door.

* * *

Captain Jack's body had been placed on a makeshift gurney and brought to the incinerator. And God, it was hot. Just because he couldn't die from it didn't make it any more pleasant.

Once the flames died down a bit and settled into their slow, ash-making burn, he saw an opening. It was plenty big enough for his broad shoulders so he figured he'd take it – what was the worst that could happen? Either it would lead out of here and into another part of the ship, or he'd run into something deadly... pfft. Whatever. If there's one thing that didn't bother him, but was something deadly.

As it turned out, fifty yards of metal duct led to a vertical climb of maybe twenty feet. The passage was four feet wide, so Jack climed with his arms and legs apart like a spider, then jumped into another level duct, bracing himself against the wall on his thick-soled boots. He inched forward on his hands and knees another fifty yards, and when he came to a fork, he listened. Which way held the voices? Could he hear the cries or words of any non-Dalek beings?

When he ascertained that the answer was no, he went toward the loudest maniacal, electronic Dalek voices. And when he reached a grate the looked down into a control room, he stopped. Two Daleks were below, their bodies plugged into some machinery, and their screwdriver arms were busily at work turning dials and adjusting things.

"Prepare to activate Genetic Codex Shield," one Dalek said to another. "One male Time Lord, origin Gallifrey, genetically of sector 9-P1-46D, known as Solace and Solitude. Tenth generation, age designation is greater than three hundred thousand revolutions."

"Prudence is of importance," the other said. "We possess a limited amount of specific genetic material. We cannot afford to waste our resources."

"We do not require more," said the first. "The Supreme Dalek does not wish the prisoners moved nor saved. The Doctor will die in the Codex Shield."

"And the female?"

"She is dispensible. Her genetic material is abundant, and her importance is determined low."

"Preparing to activate."

"One human female, origin Earth, genetically of sector 50-LTh-1233, known as Europe. One permitted generation, age designation is between five thousand and ten thousand revolutions."

Jack watched as tiny vials of blood were poured into receptors in the machinery, and an eerie whooshing sound very quickly filled the air inside the tiny room, then dissipated just as fast. The whole action sort of gave him the creeps.

"It is done," said the second Dalek. "The Doctor and his human companion are trapped."

Jack knew that the Daleks had machine-like hearing, and so he moved as quietly as he could, further through the ducts. As he passed another tributary, he felt a blast of intense heat. At first, he wondered if he'd gone in a circle and was back at the incinerator, but when he looked down the narrow corridor, he noticed a grate. Beyond it, there was a veritable ocean of fire which held a purplish tinge. The purple was quite subtle and almost invisble to the naked eye. Jack would have missed it if he hadn't stopped to look twice.

"Purple," he whispered to himself. "Purple!" _Where have I seen that before?_ He stretched out on his stomach, resting on his elbows. He began to massage his temples, and made a conscious decision to stop moving forward for a moment, and stop to take stock of the situation. It began as a gesture to help him rack his brain, but it ended up calling up some heavy emotion from the last day or so.

He was hiding in an air duct on a Dalek Mastership. The Daleks, the unemotional, mechanical, diabolically clever beings who had _killed him_ at least twice now (which, admittedly, was a drop in the bucket for Captain Jack Harkness) – how the hell had this happened again? Weirder still, Rose Tyler was back, but now the Doctor was in a relationship with Martha Jones – someday he'd ask how the hell that happened as well. Last he'd seen them, they were the best of friends but the Doctor had still been tragically blind to Martha's pining. And somehow, for some reason which Jack had yet to understand entirely, Rose was endorsing this union. This was utterly unlike her, and briefly he wondered if she was the real Rose. Her tears and pain seemed real enough, seeing the Doctor close with Martha hurt her as it should, but her resignation to it was totally out-of-character.

But there were bigger fish to fry, and the next few years were going to be scary and complicated. No matter what had happened to Rose to cause the transformation, Martha Jones had almost certainly died when the TARDIS had been destroyed...

At this last thought, he sqinted his eyes and stuck his thumb and forefinger into the sockets, hoping to relieve some of the pressure mounting. _The TARDIS was destroyed, along with Martha Jones_. Bloody hell, who could pick up the pieces from that? He supposed it should fall to him and Rose to help an utterly destroyed Doctor find his place. He assumed the Doctor wouldn't mind, all things considered, becoming an Earthling, but he would need something to occupy his time, now that he'd be stationary without his trusted vessel. Jack supposed he could give him a job at Torchwood – or hell, let him run it! The Doctor had worked for UNIT in the past and had survived, and it might be nice to have a mate on-hand who would live beyond the normal human lifespan. The Doctor and Jack could give each other a bit of normalcy, perhaps. Besides, with the deaths of Tosh and Owen, they needed both a technology genius and a medic. The Doctor could fulfill both those roles...

And he'd need help to heal from the loss of Martha. He supposed he'd have to be the one to take up that slack as well because if Rose took that on, it could get very, very messy. Perhaps he should just send Rose home. If she stayed with him, it would complicate the Doctor's feelings, he'd surely fall for her again eventually and have guilt over it because of Martha's death. It would all become part of the deeper darkness of a Time Lord's soul, that black hole of emotion from which no light could escape once the Doctor had chosen to pack it down.

_No, it will have to be me. I'm a good friend to him, and I've helped friends through nasty heartbreaks before..._ Though upon reflection, he realised that his usual M.O. was to start by getting the friend laid as soon as possible, which probably wouldn't go over too well with the Doctor. He actually knew nothing about the Doctor's sexuality, he just had a feeling. Maybe he should just let Gwen and Ianto hold the Doctor's hand through this one...

Then again, could the Doctor be left alone with mortals just now? A normal man was dangerous in this state; he shuddred to think of what a Time Lord could do, grieving from a double loss as big as this. The Doctor had been in a fairly profound state of mourning for a long time, since Jack had known him, in fact. But this was a highly specific sadness. The death of a TARDIS is quite refined to a Time Lord, and the connection severed was something that most humans could not understand.

He shook his head, as if to shimmy off the drench of heavy thoughts. "Focus, Jack," he said out loud. "Purple flames."

And then it hit him. At the core of the planet Kerfurstenbaum, he and a friend had tried to vanquish a group of aliens trying to sicken the planet through the fire within. The fire was very subtly purple, and it was Z Neutrino energy.

He was staring at the pit of flame which had killed the Doctor's world. It was like blood on the motorway – he couldn't look away. Almost against his will, he began to move toward it. It was a million degrees in there, but what did he have to lose?

When he came to the metal grate, he reached out. It singed his hand, and he swore. He shed his coat. He was a large-ish man and it was a large-ish coat, and the whole business was awkward in this space. But he managed to get the coat between himself and the grate, and he pushed. The thing opened like a gate on brand-new oiled hinges.

He knew he had to go in there. He wasn't sure exactly why, but he knew he couldn't turn away from this now. Perhaps to bring back some vestige of the TARDIS? He thought about finding a crumpled mess of charred police box, the innards having been swallowed by the cancelling-out of vortex and neutrino energy that occurs with this type of fission. All that would be left would be the wooden exterior, but it would be something that he could save. Perhaps the Doctor would like to give it a proper burial...

And then he remembered again that Martha had been inside. He wasn't sure if he'd find that she had been cancelled out in the fission event or that her body was slowly cremating along with the remains of the TARDIS. The thought of finding _that_ made him utterly sick. But he knew he had to go.

Leaving his coat behind (it was already on fire), he dropped down approximately twenty feet to the floor of the Z Neutrino chamber. He landed on his side and shook off the stars in his eyes.

The heat, quite naturally, took his breath away. He reckoned a mortal man would not have survived the final approach toward the grate. He shrugged, and once again at the cursed, but handy, fate that had given him the inability to die. Weirdly, it occurred to him at this moment that Rose currently believed him dead, and was completely oblivious to his unique condition, let alone that _she_ had caused it. He didn't figure the Doctor would ever tell her, and thought that was good – it was bad enough that he had to carry that burden. He didn't want Rose to have to share it.

Where he found himself very closely resembled hell. It was a stone-panelled room, impossibly high (though not so high he couldn't see the ceiling) and the place was awash with white-hot flames, glowing purplish-orange. Breathlessly, he walked through the fire and began to search for something, anything. He knew that there were better ways to spend his time, things he could be doing to help the Doctor's situation (including finding out more about those Genetic Codex Shields), but this felt like a labour of love, an exercise toward closure that only _he,_ Captain Jack Harkness could perform. He had to see.

But more than once, he almost lost his mettle. The heat was oppressive even for him, and the thought of what he might find nearly stopped him in his tracks. He kept his head down and his hand shielding his eyes from the brightness, and pressed on, fighting his own doubts, sometimes swallowing down a sob or two, figuring upon finding whatever it was he needed on the floor.

So that when he ran smack into the TARDIS, just sitting there in the chamber, all intact and glowing with life, it almost took his breath away as quickly as any Z Neutrino flame.


	32. Being The Captain

BEING THE CAPTAIN

"What _the hell_ was that?" asked Martha, her heart pounding like mad. "That's bloody impossible!"

She stared at the TARDIS door with horror, while Mickey and Donna stared at each other. Each was hoping that someone else had an explanation; no one did.

The knock came again. From the outside of the TARDIS. That would be the TARDIS currently engulfed in Z Neutrino flames, intended to swallow the piece of the vortex in the TARDIS' heart and kill them all. What could be _knocking_ from out there? What could survive?

"Martha! Are you alive in there?" the voice called.

"Jack?" she cried out, running for the door. She pressed against it. "Jack, is that you?"

"Yeah! How did you survive?"

"How's he doing that?" asked Mickey, pressing against the door next to her.

"Mickey?" Jack asked from the outside.

"Who is that?" asked Donna.

"Who is that?" asked Jack.

"He can't die," Martha told Mickey. "Still, Jack, are you completely mad?"

"Just let me in! It's a bit hot out here!"

"How am I supposed to do that without letting in the flames? The airlock breaks when you cross the threshold."

There was silence as Jack thought about it. "Well, maybe not. If you've got the lapse seal..."

"What the hell is a lapse seal?"

"It's a setting that gives you a thirty-second window between when you cross the threshold to when the barrier between the TARDIS and the outside actually breaks."

Martha recalled the Doctor using this setting when she was gathering samples of the cloud of smoke covering the Earth when the Sontarans were attacking. "Oh, yeah. How am I supposed to know if it's up?"

"I'm not sure," Jack said. "I guess you'll just have to take the chance, Martha. There's no way out of here for me. I won't die in here, but I can't climb out either."

"Jack, the TARDIS is weak as it is," she protested. "It almost got eaten by the Z Neutrino energy – it can't take another second!"

"Martha, I'm the only person you know, besides the Doctor, who has _any_ chance of getting the TARDIS out of there. If the airlock gets broken, just put it back up!"

"You know how to fly the TARDIS?" she asked.

"Well, not really, but if you give me a few hours, I might be able to get it out of there. I do have experience with manipulating the vortex and teleportation, remember?"

"Can you aim it? I mean, I don't want to wind up in midieval Japan."

"Just let me in, Martha! We'll talk about this in a minute!"

Martha sighed. "Donna, will you go back to the console and keep your hand over the yellow button. If the airlock breaks, if the defences go down when Jack comes in, then hit it, quick as you can."

"How will I know?" Donna asked.

"The walls will catch fire."

"Fantastic," Donna sighed, and went toward the console.

"Okay Jack, are you ready? Count of three."

She counted to three and threw the door open and when Jack crossed over, a couple of the glass lights in the TARDIS' dome shattered. Donna screamed with surprise, and covered her face with her hands. The flames began at the base and began to crawl up the walls again.

"Donna!" Martha cried out. She dashed toward the console herself and punched the yellow button. Immediately, the noise stopped, but the walls continued to burn. She and Jack grabbed the extinguishers and put out the fires as Mickey helped Donna to her feet.

When all was quiet again, Martha turned and asked Donna, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she answered, disgusted with herself. "Fat lot of good I was."

"It's okay," Martha said. "Donna Noble, meet Captain Jack Harkness."

A mesmerised look crossed Donna's face as she said silkily, "What a pleasure... _Captain._" She put out her hand, and Jack shook it, a bit taken aback.

"Yes, ma'am," answered Jack. He turned to Martha and Mickey, "Good to see you again, Martha. Mickey Mouse."

"Yeah, yeah," Martha said hastily. "Just get us out of here."

"Right." With that, Jack dropped, yanked yet another metal panel up from the TARDIS floor and plunged beneath the groaning vessel's console.

* * *

"Where on Earth are we?" asked Martha, stepping off the TARDIS for the first time _ever_ without the Doctor.

"Just be glad we're on Earth," Mickey muttered. "Aren't we?"

Martha looked about as Jack, Donna and Mickey filed out behind her. People were a tad calmer here than last she'd seen planet Earth. They were sitting on park benches, some of them were men and women enjoying being together, some of them were friends, family groups, loners, staring up at the sky. At twenty-six other planets and a gigantic spaceship.

Jack smiled. "France," he said. "Not bad for the first time!"

Martha put her hands on her hips and turned on Jack. "France? You landed us in France?"

"Hey, we're lucky to be on the right planet!" he insisted. "Let alone, I got us to the right continent! Damn I'm good!"

"But we need to be up there," Martha shouted, pointing at the Dalek ship. "That's where the Doctor needs us to be!"

"Do I look like a Time Lord to you? I'm not exactly a precision TARDIS driver, Martha. It was all I could do to keep us in the same time and the same orbit. The fact that I can't aim exactly for the room we were in before, well... I only know one guy who can do that."

Mickey scoffed. "Yeah, and even he's not that great at it. Anyway, how do you know how to fly that thing at all?"

"My vortex manipulator can interface with the TARDIS' teleport device, and I can tinker with the base codes. The TARDIS is flexible enough to change frequencies pretty much at will, so I plugged 'er in. And the Doctor showed me a long time ago the panel of temporal toggles. The labels are written in Gallifreyan, but you don't have to be a Time Lord to know that means you use them aim your time frame, and that when you don't want to travel in time, you don't touch them. Although, they do tend to slip out of place because the equipment is ancient, and why there are fifty-two gears eludes me – how many time settings can there be?"

"Jack."

"Sorry. The point is I was able to put some stuff together from my stint as a Time Agent and remember what the Doctor taught me when we travelled together back in the old days..." Jack shrugged. "But you'll notice it took me an hour and a half to _get it wrong_."

"Who cares?" asked Donna. "We're here now. Mickey, have your people lock us back onto the ship."

"Who are your people?" asked Martha of Mickey.

"Torchwood, but in... Pete's World."

"Pete's World?" asked Martha.

"Yeah, parallel dimension," Mickey said. "Pete is Rose's dad. The Doctor started calling it that so that we could keep our dimensions straight. Anyway, in our neck of the woods, Torchwood is still the monster it once was here."

Jack nodded. "Which means they can lock onto almost anything. But how are you communicating with them through the void?"

"Let's just say my mobile phone uses up a hell of a lot of power."

"But can they do that? Lock you onto the ship again and transport us?"

"Probably, but only two of us. Which means we've got the same problem as before," he said to Donna, glaring at her.

"It should be me and Martha," Donna said.

"No way," Mickey said. "It's already too dangerous having you here. You're going home."

"So are you," Jack said to Mickey.

"Oi! You can't just steal my teleportation device! Who's going to make the call, eh?" Mickey protested.

"I'm not trying to steal from you, Mickey, I just want you safe. Martha and I have the best chance of helping the Doctor, we should be the ones to go," Jack told him, trying to calm him.

"Yeah, you, maybe," Mickey said. "But what can Martha do?"

"Listen, the Doctor is up there, and I'm not leaving him. Do you understand what I mean?" Martha asked, voice as hard as stone, but truthfully she was trying not to cry. She wanted to grab Mickey by the collar and shake him silly.

"And Rose is with him," Mickey returned, same tone. "Do you understand what I mean?"

Martha did. She resolved to soften a bit and think of Mickey's _feelings_, not just of handling him. Goodness knew she wasn't the only person on Earth with a loved on in mortal peril at the moment.

"Then we're at an impasse," Donna sighed. "Blimey, here we go again."

"You are not at an impasse or anywhere else," Martha said. "You are soon to be on a train back to London. Go be with your family, Donna."

Donna sighed heavily, and crossed her arms irritatedly over her chest. She had given up asking why everyone was trying to get rid of her – she assumed they didn't think she was clever enough to be of use. She knew differently, but couldn't convince them. For once, she had nothing left to say and decided to stay silent, but to let them know she was stewing, and bloody well annoyed. Her toe tapped on the pavement, as she pointedly turned away from Martha and stared at a blue car to her left, jaw clenched.

"Wait, Jack," Martha said, putting up one hand. "Tell me again about the base codes. What did you say about plugging into the TARDIS?"

"What, my vortex manipulator?" he asked, fingering the leather band on his wrist. "The TARDIS is a teleport – a really fancy teleport with lots of bells and whistles, not to mention a sentient core. As long as you oscillate at number-one base code four and nine, you can use other, higher base codes with it, and it will understand. That's why the TARDIS can jump long distances, short distances, in any climate, any terrain, it can lock onto a gravity source..."

"Mickey," Martha shouted. "Does your device work with that four-nine code?"

"Yeah, I think so," he mumbled, taking it from his pocket.

"Oh I get it!" Jack exclaimed at Martha. "May I?" he asked, reaching out to Mickey.

Mickey reluctantly put the thing in Jack's hand. Jack examined it, and without a word, he turned and walked back into the police box, a silent tow of puzzled friends following behind. The TARDIS seemed to groan in recognition once more as they came back inside, as though it could sense they'd found a solution and needed its help.

Jack began to circumvent the console, staring alternately at the disc in his hand and the controls. He circled at least four times quite slowly before he saw what he was looking for. It was a tiny strip of metal, nearly completely hidden below a panel of temperature dials. Jack blew the dust off the narrow surface and slid the teleport disc into place. The vessel made a clicking sound, as the magnetism locked the thing into place.

"Mickey, make the call," Jack muttered, staring intently at the disc.

Mickey got on the line and explained, as best he could, what had been done. He explained, Martha thought, rather well what Jack had said about base codes and bells and whistles... He needed to be locked on to the Crucible, but, if possible, in a clandestine location so they would not be seen. The person on the other end seemed to be yelling, and Mickey simply stood and took the abuse for a minute or so. Martha and Jack assumed that he was being admonished for asking them to try and steer a TARDIS using a simple teleportation device, and Mickey was taking it all in his stride. Finally, when the screeching finished, he asked, "Won't you at least try?"

There was a pause, and then Mickey smiled. "Thanks," he said, shutting the phone. "Push the button."

Jack reached out, but Martha stopped him. "Let me do it?" she asked. It felt meaningful for her to be able to move the TARDIS. Even if she had n't been the one to adapt the teleport, nor the one who had made the call or brought the device in her pocket, she still felt it was something she _deserved_ to do. In the absence of the Doctor, it was she who should take the reins. How many times had she watched him, observed him and marvelled at the power of the Time Lord and his TARDIS? Now it was her turn, even if this particular gesture was mostly symbolic.

Jack stepped back, and Martha stepped forward. Almost ceremoniously, she pressed the button on Mickey's teleport, which was sticking sideways out of a sloped piece of the TARDIS console, and the whooshing of the great vessel began. Martha smiled, and she felt the Doctor's presence within her, as though this one silly little act had brought them closer. He didn't even know she was alive at the moment, but she was coming to him, in his TARDIS, being an instrument of rescue!

In a few seconds, the whooshing became more of a sickly grind, and Jack begged, "Oh, no, sweetheart, it's okay. You can make it, I know you can. It's for the Doctor, you know that." He was talking to the machine, which was apparently not reacting well to the teleport. He stroked the console as the Doctor might have done, and Martha simply silently willed it to push harder, get them there, bring the Doctor home.

When it stopped, they all looked at each other. "Where are we?" asked Donna.

No one answered, but it was Martha who made the first move toward the door. When she looked out, she could see that they were unmistakably, once again, inside the Crucible. It was what they had wanted, but she sighed. "Hell."

They all stepped off the TARDIS once again, tiptoeing this time.

Martha put her hands, once again, disgustedly on her hips. "Blimey, I wish we'd called for help when we had the chance."

"My people are all the way in Cardiff," Jack whispered. "They couldn't get here in time anyway. Besides, there's only two of them now, and someone has to run the hub."

"Well, there's UNIT, isn't there?" she asked, whispering, hissing now.

"How do you know about UNIT?" he wanted to know.

"The Sontaran thing," Martha told him. "The Doctor called and read them the riot act for trying to go nuclear. And then I had this vision..."

"Vision?"

"Yeah, long story."

"Interesting?" asked Jack.

"Have you been wondering why Rose isn't trying to fight me?" she asked.

"Yes!"

"Well, someday, I'll tell you," she agreed. "But for now, what's the plan?"

"Hand!" Jack exclaimed. He dashed back throug the door of the TARDIS and disappeared for a moment. When he returned, he was holding onto the jar he'd once carried around in a backpack, and inside was the Doctor's severed hand.

"What's that for?" Donna asked, uttering her first words since being rebuked in France.

"Oh, I have plans for this baby," Jack said, smiling wickedly, patting the glass panels. Mickey feigned sickness.

"Care to tell us what they are?" Martha asked.

"I will," he promised. "But for now, we have to get moving."

He stuffed the large jar under his arm, and with his free hand, he took Martha's, and the four of them headed down a hallway. They walked very slowly, trying not to disturb the dust, make any pin-drop sounds or displace the air in any fashion. They had to be _perfect_ or the jig was up, and they all knew it.

Which was why all of their hearts leapt into their throats when Jack stopped in the hallway, causing everyone to bump into each other comically, slammed his palm against his forehead, and said, "Damn!"

Martha hadn't realised how high-strung she'd been until this one gesture had set her heart pounding. "Jack!" she screeched, as quietly as possible. "What the hell?"

He turned, his eyes were wide with panic. "UNIT!" he spat. "Oh my God! Harriet Jones said they had a weapon!"

"Oh yeah!" Martha exclaimed. "But she said it was awful and barbaric and we should forget about it."

"Well, we should find out what it is first, eh?" he asked. "Okay, someone needs to take this thing, while I get to a comm station."

"Jack, are you mad? This is a Dalek ship. If you infiltrate their comm systems, they'll know it in a heartbeat!"

"What are they going to do, kill me?"

"No, but they might kill us! Or the Doctor or Rose, did you think of that?"

"Yeah, which is why you're going to be nowhere near here when it happens."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Martha had her orders from the Captain. All she had to do was wait for the signal.


	33. Dispensible

DISPENSIBLE

He didn't speak German; he didn't _want_ to speak German. Anyway, he didn't need to, because he knew what the old woman had been saying, even if he hadn't specifically understood her words. She was saying what anyone else would say if they knew what he was about to do to their planet. There was only one reason why a UNIT operative would turn up at an Osterhagen Station in the middle of an interplanetary crisis, and they both knew it. So he didn't engage. He didn't stop as she spoke, nor turn to look at her when she cocked her pistol behind his back. He didn't need anyone talking him out of this – he might lose his mettle. He had his orders, period. And if she killed him, well, maybe he needed killing.

But God, he wished that there were some authority higher than UNIT. There _had_ to be someone who had the power to talk them down. Well, of course, he knew there was, but Operation Blue Sky had never worked the way it was supposed to, and the Doctor only showed his pasty face, whatever it may look like, when he bloody well felt like it. He'd helped them out with the Sontaran debacle but then he'd buggered off again as usual.

So, he guessed, there was no use wishing now that the Doctor, or anyone else would step in and tell Dr. Andrew McGrath, now shut tightly inside a sound-proof control room in Germany, that he didn't _have_ to destroy the Earth, that there was another way. It just wasn't going to happen. And for all its faults, Andrew believed in UNIT, and he thought they had the right idea. When the suffering of the human race is so great that the only hope is destruction… well, he knew that time was now. Now, if any.

Andrew took a deep breath, reached out and turned on the comm unit. The screens before him began to clutter with greyish snow, and then he heard a voice.

"This is Osterhagen Station Five," it said. It was the voice of a woman, and she had some kind of asian accent. "Are you receiving, Station One?"

"Yeah, I'm here," he sighed, turning the dials a bit further so that he could see who was speaking. The face of a panicked-looking Chinese woman came into focus on one screen, and a royally pissed-off, stoic-looking African man came in on the other. "Well, I guess that makes three."

"My name is Anna Cho," said the woman. "What's yours?"

"Andrew McGrath," he said. "Station Four, you got a name?"

"I don't want my name on this, given what we're about to do," answered the African.

"Listen, mate," Andrew said. "In a little while, no one will know nor care."

"Still."

"So what happens now?" asked Anna Cho. "Do we do it?"

"_Don't even think about it,_" said another voice. Another man's voice was crackling across the airwaves, this time an American.

"Who's that?" asked Andrew, turning dials once more. "State your rank and name."

"Captain Jack Harkness," the voice said. "But I'm not UNIT, so you can't touch me. Unless I invite you to."

"Bloody Torchwood," Andrew groaned. "How are you doing this? This is a closed-circuit frequency accessible only by UNIT operatives."

"Well, I'm a hacker, call it a hobby," said the American. "And whatever it is you're about to do, just stop it."

"On whose orders?" asked Andrew.

"A higher authority than UNIT. Way higher."

"I don't take orders from Torchwood."

"Not Torchwood. Higher than that, even. And before you do something completely insane, you'll have to answer to him," Captain Jack said. Suddenly, his voice turned comically effeminate, and he said, "If you'll hold the line just for a moment, sir, I'll transfer your call. Thank you!"

* * *

_Single string Z Neutrinos compressed by the engineered alignment of twenty-seven planets. Single string Z Neutrinos compressed by the engineered alignment of twenty-seven planets. Single string Z Neutrinos compressed by the engineered alignment of twenty-seven planets. Single string…_

Inside invisible walls, these words were echoing in the Doctor's mind. The sequence of words which signified the horrifying scenario he had worked out minutes before, and had wasted precious breath in protesting against. The Reality Bomb, they called it, the thing that would break down, once and for all, all walls between realities and reduce all matter to nothing. He would fight until the end of the universe, the trouble was, the Daleks were relentless, they didn't actually _fight_, per se, and the end of the universe might just be tonight. He was exhausted from yelling at them, from grieving for Martha, watching Rose cry, trying to scheme and feeling helpless. The voice of he Daleks, the repetition of those horrible words in his mind…

_Single string Z Neutrinos compressed by the engineered alignment of twenty-seven planets. _

Soon the countdown would begin, and there would be nothing he could do, not from inside this intangible cell in which he and Rose found themselves individually imprisoned. Everything… _everything_ would be gone soon.

Within her own invisible walls, the Doctor's desperate cries were playing like a broken record in Rose's head. His begging of Davros to show mercy on the universe, his frantic pleading for the megalomaniacal creator of the Daleks to see reason. He knew better than anyone that the word _Dalek_ and _reason_ don't often appear in the same sentence, but she admired him for trying. She loved him for it. She loved him for everything he did and was, everything he said, stood for, fought for...

But now all she could see was a broken man inside a silent, air-prison, mentally torturing himself and in the throes of grief over a lover who was not her. Every now and then, he would look at her with sadness, and say, "Rose, I'm so sorry," but then he would retreat back into himself and not speak anymore. Davros was talking, grandstanding, taunting, but the Doctor remained stoic. She knew he heard, but she was beginning to wonder if he now cared. She suspected that his sanity and resolve were unravelling with every passing minute.

"Incoming transmission, origin planet Earth," said one of the Daleks.

"Display!" said the big red one.

A voice came over the intercom, permeating the entire ship. All Daleks, humans and Time Lords on board heard the transmission. "Calling all Daleks," it said. "This is Captain Jack Harkness, with a transmission from UNIT, intercepted by yours truly from right here aboard the fabulous Dalek Crucible. Oh, if my friends could see me now! Go ahead, UNIT man you're on the air."

"He's still alive?" asked Rose.

"Yeah," the Doctor said. "Erm, gypsy curse – very complicated."

A screen unfurled before the Doctor and Rose, and young man in UNIT-issue paraphernalia appeared, looking confused. "He's UNIT!" the Doctor cried out. "Put me through!"

"What the hell is going on? What are we doing? Who's that?" Andrew asked, squinting.

"I'm the Doctor!"

"Dear God, you _do_ exist," Andrew exclaimed. "Thank heaven for that. I was beginning to think you were just a legend."

"But the Doctor is powerless," Davros pointed out. "My prisoner. State your intent."

There was a pause while McGrath looked startled. He seemed to be looking around the room he was in for a way out, for support, for anything.

"Stop squirming, McGrath," said Captain Jack. "Just get to the point. You have the Doctor's ear – this may never happen again, do you hear me?"

"UNIT has assembled three operatives in three Osterhagen Stations, and we all have keys," Andrew McGrath said, displaying what looked like a digital camera data card. "If the Daleks do not stand down, we will use it."

"No, you moron!" they heard Captain Jack say over the intercom.

"Osterhagen?" the Doctor asked. "What's that? What key?"

"There's a chain of twenty-five nuclear warheads placed at strategic locations just beneath the Earth's crust," McGrath explained. "If we use the key, we can detonate them and destroy the Earth."

The Doctor's face went white with terror and disbelief. His jaw hung slack.

"Doctor, are you getting this?" Captain Jack asked over the intercom. "Doctor?"

"I'm getting it, Jack. What did you say your name was? Dr. McGrath?"

"Yes, sir."

"Dr. McGrath, are you _insane_?"

"I have my orders."

"Sod your orders! Can't you think for yourself?" the Doctor cried out.

Andrew sighed. "The Osterhagen Key was invented by Stefan Osterhagen, UNIT Commander of the German branch, from 1989 to 1995. It is to be used when the suffering of the human race is so great and without hope that the destruction of our planet becomes the only choice."

"That is never a choice!" the Doctor spat back. "That's completely mad!"

"But Doctor," Jack's voice said. "Don't the Daleks need these twenty-seven planets for something? What if one of them gets destroyed? Can they do it with twenty-six?"

"Good point," McGrath smiled. "What about it, Daleks? Wanna risk it?"

"Foolish boy," said Davros. "The Daleks do not feel doubt."

"Shall we test that theory?" McGrath asked, standing from his chair within the Osterhagen Station, brandishing the key.

"The universe is rife with planets, riddled with beings, populations just waiting to be wiped clean," Davros said evenly. "If it is not the Earth, then it is another planet. We have that power, Dr. McGrath, and you know it. The Doctor knows it. The Shadow Proclamation knows it. Destroy the Earth, and we shall move on to another."

Clenching his teeth, the Doctor spat with disgust, "Dispensible, that's what it is. The whole Earth is just dispensible to you. One of the eggs in the basket breaks, you just get a new egg, simple as that. No pity, no life..."

"But _such_ is life, Doctor," Davros said. "As you know. Come now, you are the man who has travelled over nine hundred years with dozens of companions, many of them humans who cannot hope to live your long lifespan. Tell me, Doctor: what do _you_ do when one of _your_ eggs breaks?"

The Doctor's hearts each skipped a beat, and his breath was taken. His chest heaved as rage rose up from within. Davros was about to cross into territory where the wise fear to tread: attacking the Doctor's companions, using them to get to him.

"Stop talking, Davros," the Doctor warned.

Davros wheeled his way round to face his prisoners. "What happened to your Tegan? Your Peri? Your good friend Sarah Jane Smith? What of Miss Grant, Miss Shaw, the lovely Gallifreyan lady you travelled with? Did you not just replace one with another?" He wheeled in close to Rose. "Well, except for you, Miss Tyler. You were special. After you, shall we say, _fell from his basket_, he could never have replaced you, especially not with someone brighter or more beautiful or more talented…"

"Stop it, Davros," the Doctor warned again.

"He certainly could not have a loving relationship with someone else after he lost you. Your memory was too fragile and great, and he could never have moved on." Davros paused. The silence hung in the air for a moment. "Oh, but wait. Couldn't he?"

Rose did not trust herself to speak, so she stayed silent. She marvelled at the irony of this tactic coming from a being who devalued emotions as unimportant.

Davros faced the Doctor.

"You are the last of your kind, but you have always been alone," he said. "You do not wish to strike out on your own, and so you use your human companions as tools to help you to combat the loneliness, the sorrow. So that you won't have to face that you are just as barbaric as you claim that we are, so very ruthless with your affections, and so very – I'll use your word – _dispensible_ are your companions in the end."

"You're wrong," the Doctor growled.

"Take heart, Doctor," Davros sneered. "Miss Jones may be gone, consumed to embers of black skin and bone, but you'll have another pretty young thing filling the space as early as tomorrow, worshipping the ground you walk upon, catering to your _every _need – it's what you have always done, and so you will do again. Or at least you would do, were it not for the fact that your TARDIS is dead too, and no Time Lord nor human nor being non-Dalek will exist tomorrow."

* * *

The entire Crucible was listening.

She had no idea how Jack had found this room again, especially since he'd only seen it from above through the air ducts, and considering that when the TARDIS had re-materialised on the ship, they'd had no flipping idea where they were. But he'd found it quite easily, and almost as easily, he predicted how the Daleks would react to his transmission. Intercepting UNIT's communications served a dual purpose.

Martha Jones stood inside a control room within the ship, listening to Jack and Andrew and Davros' whole sordid performance. When Captain Jack announced that he had intercepted the UNIT signal from somewhere _inside _the Crucible, the two Daleks who had been posted in this room had been ordered out, in search of the interloper. Jack had counted on this – no-one ever survived a Dalek blast, and he knew they would but all available units on his trail. Especially with the Doctor and Rose safely bound up within those cyllindrical prison fields.

So she had snuck in, and was waiting for the signal – Jack said she would know it when she heard it. She could see, on a small screen, the Doctor and Rose standing twenty feet apart, each fuming over Davros' words. Martha couldn't help but feel for Rose in these moments. No-one liked being reminded of their own mortality or being told they are dispensible, and she doubly knew that Rose would not like being forced to remember that after she'd got separated from the Doctor, the Doctor had loved someone else quite well. She supposed she felt for Rose because she felt for herself. All humans who travel with the Doctor eventually share the same fate, whatever their relationship had once been, whatever time gave them, time took.

Martha scanned over the controls and located a small set of tubing. Some red residue remained inside. A laser-like beam poured into the tubing from above, making contact with the residue, and a display above read _engage_. A display below read _Time Lord Male_, and had a whole bunch of numbers and other gibberish following it. A similar feature figured beside it, and the lower display read _Human Female_, with a different set of numbers and nonsense. She had located the bells and whistles, she just hoped she could move quickly enough now to get the job accomplished.

Easily enough, she found a toggle which changed the display above the Time Lord's readout to _disengage. _And now she looked down. Between her feet, she saw the large jar, bubbling with some sort of mad liquid, and containing the Doctor's severed right hand. The thought of having to touch it did not sit particularly well with her, but she knew that it was all for the best, and that she could and would come through in a pinch. Besides, she had once held a man's tongue in her hand, after it had been bitten off and before it had been re-attached, during a particularly interesting night in the ED. She screwed off the top, reached inside and removed the hand.

She wasn't sure if she should comfort herself with internal reminders that it was the Doctor's hand, not some disgusting stranger, or if she should try to forget who it belonged to. In the end, she simply thought of it as a hand. It was a body part, a curiosity to someone like her. It was not special, it had been discarded, and its owner had grown a new one, so no harm done. _Just wait for the signal, Martha._ She poised the hand, and did as she was told. She waited.

"Take heart, Doctor," Davros was sneering. "Miss Jones may be gone, consumed to embers of black skin and bone, but you'll have another pretty young thing filling the space as early as tomorrow, worshipping the ground you walk upon, catering to your _every _need – it's what you have always done, and so you will do again. Or at least you would do, were it not for the fact that your TARDIS is dead too, and no Time Lord nor human nor being non-Dalek will exist tomorrow."

"Enough!" a Dalek voice said. "Engage defence zero five!"

"Martha, now!" shouted Jack.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she shoved the pinky finger of the Doctor's hand into the tubing. The laser device spread its contact to the entire hand, just as Martha heard the words "Transmat engaged!" being half-screamed by a Dalek.

She felt herself being smashed into a little ball, and then pulled instantaneously across a short space. When she felt herself again, she was in a room with the Doctor and Rose, and upon closer inspection, Jack, Donna,Mickey and the TARDIS. The Daleks had reeled them all in once more.

"Martha!" the Doctor cried out. He took a step toward her, then stopped himself. She had put out a hand to signal for him to stay put. She met his eye, and her seriousness had caught him. He had realised it immediately – he was free of his invisible prison now, but it would be better not to let the Daleks know that just yet.

"All of you, on your knees," Davros commanded. "Surrender!"

"Do as he says," the Doctor advised everyone. Martha obeyed, followed by Jack and Sarah Jane, and finally, Mickey.

"Jesus, Mickey," Rose whined.

"I suppose you'd have done better," he asked. "Which one of us got captured first?"

"Everything is in place," Davros mused. "The Doctor and all of his children are together at last, ready to fight for each other, fight together, and waiting to die together. Supreme Dalek, the time has come. Detonate the Reality Bomb!"

"Activate planetary alignment field," said the big red Dalek. "Universal detonation in two hundred rels."

"Haaaa!" Davros screamed maniacally. "Nothing can stop the detonation! Nothing and no-one!"

"Doctor, what are you waiting for?" Donna asked. "Stop them!"

The Doctor and Rose turned to look at her as though they'd just realised she was there. Rose looked at Martha accusingly, with jaw agape.

"We tried – we couldn't stop her!" Martha insisted.

"How did she… how did you… wha…?" asked the Doctor, panicked.

"Never mind that," Rose cut him off. "Where's the hand?"

"What?" Martha asked.

"The hand! Where is it!"

Martha glanced at Jack. Both of them were nervous now, breathing hard and their eyes narrowed with worry. To reveal what they'd done with the hand might bring an end to the element of surprise. They didn't know the Doctor was free just yet, but with Rose panicking this way…

"What happened to it?" asked Rose, her voice rising, the urgency becoming clear. "Did she touch it? Did Donna touch it?"

The countdown from twenty rels began.

It was now or never, as Jack saw it. A pause, and then he made a break across the floor toward the controls console. "I'm going to stop you!" It was like a battle cry, a last, desperate, mad dash before the end. But in reality, it was a well-calculated move which was, predictably, responded to with the word "Exterminate!"


	34. Adrift

**Okay, there is something of a gear-shift in this chapter, and I'll admit, it's a little self-indulgent on my part. I got tired of being generous to a character who I don't think really deserves it.**

* * *

ADRIFT

Before Captain Jack's body even hit the floor the Doctor was making the same mad dash, except the Daleks were distracted by Jack, and utterly shocked by the Doctor's freedom.

"This is impossible!" cried the Supreme Dalek. "The Doctor is imprisoned!"

"Yeah, well, clearly, I'm not, so no use dwelling on the past, eh?" the Doctor said matter-of-factly from behind a giant metal console. Martha thought she could _hear _the shrug, and the smirk. When they screamed _exterminate _and shot at him, he ducked. Then he said, "Did it ever occur to you that you're giving your enemies a huge advantage by yelling out _exterminate_ every time you're about to kill them? You might as well change your battle cry to _head start!_ You might want a word with your creator about that."

Martha had to chuckle at his voice there, as he mocked the Daleks, imitated their awful voices and mimicked their comical cry.

With that, he flipped a switch which seemed to stop the countdown, cause an alarm to sound briefly, then power down all of the machinery around them. "See how I did that? I didn't _announce_ that I was going to close down your Z Neutrino loops by using the internalised syncronus backfeed reversal loop because it might have given you time to stop me. I just did it. Brilliant eh?"

Dalek voices rang out in protest all over the room, all over the ship. "System in shutdown! Detonation negative! Explain! Explain!"

"Doctor! They're surrounding you!" Martha cried out.

He looked about and noticed that he was, indeed, surrounded. He examined the console for a quick moment, then hit a sequence of awkwardly-placed buttons. When the cry of _exterminate_ came again, the Dalek rays fell impotently as though they'd all become suddenly depressed and lost their will. The Doctor smirked, and everyone else gasped in disbelief.

"Weapons non-functional!" the Daleks cried. They milled about confusedly, before stopping, at a loss, to watch what happened next.

Hitting yet another button deactivated Rose's containment field.

"Rose, Martha, over here!" the Doctor cried out. "We've got twenty-seven planets to send home, and then we're getting the hell out of here!"

The girls turned up at his sides, and he instructed them each to take one of the sets of controls. He ripped open a panel on the side and began sonicking the wires within.

"You will desist!" Davros cried out.

Suddenly Captain Jack sat up, his pistol trained on the blue eye at the centre of Davros' forehead. "Don't think so," he said, standing up slowly. A Dalek approached him, and he put his foot against it, and pushed hard, insisting, "Out of the way!" The surprised Dalek went careening away, protesting madly.

"What are you doing?" Martha asked.

"That _fearsome_ technology, remember? The kind they used to pull these planets out of time and out of orbit? Well, I'm reversing it!" The childish glimmer in his eye gave her the first good, solid chill up her spine that she'd had since this whole thing began. Suddenly, she remembered why she was here, what she was fighting for, and how much she wanted their life back. "Now, do you girls see those things on either side that look like wheel spokes? There are six of them, and they all need to be pulled at the same time. When I give the word, pull!"

"Got it," Rose said, grabbing onto the spokes.

"Got it," Martha echoed, doing likewise.

"Ready?" he asked. "And, reverse!"

The three of them pulled at once, and the generator ramped up like a 747.

"Off you go, Clom," he said. "Back home, Adipose 3!" He pressed a button each time he named a planet. Then suddenly, "We need more power! It's not enough!"

He threw open the panel again, and the sonic did its good work.

Donna ran toward him and grabbed his arm. With a whispered reverence, she said, "Doctor."

"Donna," he returned. "Good to see you. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I just want to help," she said. "Tell me what I can do."

Rose took her by the shoulders and protectively forced her to take five steps away from the Doctor. Martha wondered which one of them she thought she was protecting. Then Rose rounded on Martha once again. "Martha, _where is that hand?_"

"She used it to deactivate the Genetic Codex Shield," the Doctor said. "To release me from that invisible cage. Right?"

Martha nodded.

"That's brilliant," the Doctor marveled, smiling proudly at her.

"Jack's idea," Martha conceded. "I just did the leg-work."

"The handy work," the Doctor corrected.

Rose looked long and hard at Donna and smiled. Suspiciously, Donna asked, "What?"

"You're safe," Rose said. "Everything's fine."

"Excuse me?" Martha asked.

"The danger has passed," Rose told her. "That thing that was going to happen… now it won't."

"It won't?" Martha wanted to know. Her question came out a bit higher-pitched than she would have liked. She didn't want to betray her worry. Rose had said that something bad would happen to Donna and would break the Doctor's hearts if Martha didn't stay with him. She understood that time was changeable, and now that _that_ possibility was gone, what disaster would pass in its stead?

"No, it won't," Rose said softly. She smiled small, and returned to her place at the console.

"What about you? What will happen to you?"

Another small smile from Rose. It was enigmatic, like the Mona Lisa.

Suddenly, smoke started to pour out of the control board opposite. The Doctor's voice rang out, "We've lost the magnatron! Only one planet left." He gritted his teeth and chuckled, and looked at Martha. "Guess which one. But we can use the TARDIS! Come on!" He took off running and disappeared inside the blue box.

Everyone followed; Rose, Donna, Mickey, Jack and Martha. The Doctor slammed his hand down on the yellow flashing button, preventing the Daleks, at least temporarily, from breaching.

"What are we doing?" asked Jack.

"We're towing the Earth home," the Doctor answered frantically, firing up the console, doing his usual shuffle round the controls. "But first, we have to dispense with the Daleks."

He ran toward the window and looked out at the chaos. The Daleks stood by, their weapons rendered useless. Some of them milled about aimlessly, still demanding "explain, explain!" Davros screamed at the Doctor that he was a coward and should come out and face his death like a warrior.

But none of that mattered in the Doctor's mind just now. His brain was filled with the image of thousands upon thousands of Dalek ships, all with Z Neutrino hearts networked with the Crucible, the Dalek Master ship. Millions of Daleks, all bent upon destroying the universe, and more than capable. Yes, at the moment their weapons had been neutralised, but it was just a matter of time (and not much time, at that) before one of them worked out how to bring their power back online and then they could shoot down the Doctor and his comrades, and wreak havoc once again. That couldn't be allowed to happen.

Rose spied the forlorn look on the Doctor's face. Feeling an old, familiar sense of responsibility and freedom wash over her, she approached him and took his hand in both of hers. "Doctor, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice low and even.

Martha felt an unpleasantly hot jolt run through her, like a flaming clot coming up from her feet and lodging in her lungs. It wasn't just Rose taking his hand, it was her tone, the softness with which she spoke. It was the intimacy, the gesture that suggested she wanted to keep the world out of that moment. Martha knew she should look away, but she couldn't. After a few seconds, she felt Jack's hand on her shoulder, squeezing in comfort. She couldn't look at him. She had seen him acting this way toward Rose earlier, when the Doctor had been close with Martha. Now Jack had switched sides, and she desperately didn't want to think again about the possibility of what that might mean.

"With or without the Reality Bomb, a Dalek empire this size still has the power to butcher half the universe," the Doctor told Rose.

Rose moved even closer, and laced her fingers through his. She pressed against his arm and stroked his back with her free hand. "What are you going to do?" she whispered intimately.

Still peering outside, the Doctor said, "That console has Dalekanium power feeds. It's a thing-a-ma-bob that allows them to conduct the Neutrino energy through their metal casing if they have to. It's in the event of a bodily attack – my guess is that they learned from the Van Statten debacle."

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"It means if I ramp it up, I could destroy them all. I could do it from here with the sonic. It would be frighteningly easy."

There was a long pause. Then, "Do it," Rose whispered.

For the first time, he looked at her. "What?"

"Do it," she repeated.

Big brown eyes stared back at him through a curtain of perfect blonde hair. Her mouth was slightly open, and he could hear her breathing just a tad harder than usual. Her head was tilted to the side in a sympathetic gesture of cameraderie and love. He could feel her breasts pressing against his arm, and her fingers enlaced with his, clinging. It was all sort of new, very exciting, but he'd been so distracted that he hadn't noticed how wrong it felt.

Without being forceful, he pulled his hand free and took a step away from her. His expression confused her; he had never looked at her that way before. It was as if he didn't know her.

"I can't," he said to her, his tone soft but cordial. "To kill every single Dalek in existence, that would be genocide."

"So?" she asked.

"There are certain things I just don't do, Rose." His tone was pointed, stern. He never thought he'd have to speak this way to her, and how sad to have to do it right in the middle of an apocalyptic crisis.

"Okay, fair enough," Jack chimed in carefully, breaking a very tense moment. "But Doctor, whatever we do, we've got to work fast."

"All right then," the Doctor cried out, jogging back up the ramp, Martha's unwillingness to meet his eye not escaping him. "Jack, get on the comm to Torchwood. Tell them to open up the rift manipulator and send the power to me. Mickey, I need you to try and find Sarah Jane. She's got this super-computer thing. Tell her to have it harness the rift energy and lasso it round the TARDIS – maybe she can even connect us directly with it. If not, then Jack knows the base codes."

"Told you you'd thank me later," Jack quipped.

"Will do," Mickey said, extracting his mobile phone. "I know exactly where she is, too!"

"Donna," the Doctor cried out. "Come here!"

Donna approached him, and he showed her a lever on the TARDIS console. "You see that? Keep your hand poised over it, and when I give you the signal, you flip it forward as far as it will go, have you got that?"

"Got it," she replied with a a smile.

"Rose," he said, his frenetic tone having abated. "Take Jack's gun. Stay just inside the door, use it if you have to… but _only_ if you have to. You are our insurance."

She gulped and nodded as Jack handed her the pistol.

"Martha," he said, finally meeting her eyes. "Call UNIT, tell them whatever you have to in order to get McGrath to stand down. We can't have him blowing up the planet. It might be counterproductive while we're trying to save it."

* * *

"Doctor! You coward!" Davros screamed as the Time Lord sauntered leisurely out of his TARDIS. "You have disarmed your opponent, and yet you are still making a battle plan! Have you lost your honour in war?"

The Doctor looked about, and noticed at least fifty Daleks, standing with powerless weapons. He shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled. "Aw, it's almost sad, that. I wonder if the Pfizer company makes a remedy for it. They call it ED, for Extermination Dysfuction."

"You're wasting time, Time Lord," Davros growled. "Even now, we are working out a way to infiltrate your TARDIS once again and destroy it as we failed to before. Any moment, we shall regain our strength, and then you and your little friends…"

"Yeah, yeah, sing me a new one," the Doctor scoffed. "Although, I suppose that what I'm about to say is a bit of a _routine _that I've picked up myself, isn't it? I've come here to tell you that, as usual, you have a choice."

"Acquiesce to our greatest enemy? Never."

"Well, have it your way. But you probably already know that dampening the power source that feeds into the Daleks' extermination devices is draining a hell of a lot of fuel," the Doctor warned. "And I'll just keep counteracting any efforts made on your part, until the fuel runs out and your controls are stuck that way. If you don't give me your word that you'll turn this boat around and park it at the other end of the universe, _and then do it, _you will very soon find yourself and all eighty gajillion of your little ships adrift in space. So, you know. Something to think about."

"You forget, Doctor, the odds are not in your favour. It is five million to one."

"Yes, but as I've tried to explain to you over and over and _over _again, I have the advantage because I have independent thought, you buffoon! And technically, it's five million to six, which is a formidable ratio when you've got five million impotent dullards bumping into each other in the corridors."

"Any minute…" Davros promised.

"Enough, Davros," the Doctor interrupted. "Give me your word, and just go away."

"No, Doctor. You have failed."

"All right, then," he sighed. "_Donna, now!_"

At the flick of the switch, the TARDIS seemed to shoot a pulse throughout the Crucible that sent both ships into momentary vibrations. The Doctor moved toward the control unit and set some dials, locking them with the sonic, amid the loud, but useless, protests of a room full of Daleks. The engines at the heart of the Crucible began to grind unhealthily.

"Oooh," the Doctor said, sucking air through his teeth. "That doesn't sound good. Better get a man in."

"Doctor! What have you done?" screamed Davros.

"Goodbye, Davros," the Doctor said. "Enjoy the Condensate Wilderness."

* * *

The Doctor re-boarded the TARDIS, and as he walked up the ramp, Jack asked, "What did you do to them?"

"I set them adrift toward the Condensate Wilderness."

"Yikes," Jack exclaimed. "Remind me not to piss you off."

"Aw, it's not so bad," the Doctor said. "It will eventually force the Daleks to mind their own bloody business, what with their fuel draining and their ship's heart poisoned with the TARDIS' energy. But I reckon they'll get along."

"What's the Condensate Wilderness?" asked Mickey.

"It's at the edge of the known universe," the Doctor answered. "They won't work out how to bring their power back before they drift there, and they won't make it back here on one tank of fuel, especially with the Crucible being all heartsick."

Jack smirked. "They'll be left to hang around the Condensate Region and its environs, and terrorising it won't be so easy, considering all the planets in that area are a damn sight nastier than the Daleks. Eventually, they'll just have to..."

"...bugger off?" asked Rose.

"Exactly!"

"Beautiful!" she exclaimed.

"Now, down to more important things," the Doctor said, rubbing his hands together. "Do you know why this TARDIS is always rattling about the place? It's designed to have six pilots, and I have to do it single-handed. But now we can fly it like it's meant to be flown. We've got the Torchwood rift looped around the TARDIS, and we're going to fly planet Earth back home!

He showed each of his companions which control to take, and how to use it.

"Right then," he smirked. "Off we go!"

And the TARDIS very smoothly returned to the Milky Way, towing an entire planet in its wake.

* * *

After a quick trip to Cardiff to thank the Torchwood team (small though it now may be) and give them back their Captain, the crew of five set down the TARDIS in a park in Central London.

"Well, shipmates," the Doctor said. "Anyone you need to see?"

Martha turned and faced him. "I'm going to go see my mum," she said. "Please don't go anywhere until…"

"I won't," he promised, taking her hands. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "I wouldn't."

"Thanks," she whispered.

"Me too! I've got to check on mum and gramps!" Donna cried, following Martha toward the door. "I suppose we could use the Westminster station…"

"Blimey," Martha said, patting her pockets. "I don't have an Oyster card!"

The Doctor tossed the psychic paper at her, and she caught it. It was an interesting gesture.

"Rose, your mum is at my house," Donna said. "You may as well tag along."

Mickey stepped forward. "I'll check on her, babe," he said to Rose.

"Thanks, Mick," she said, squeezing his hand. "I'll be along in a bit. Just text me with the address."

Martha, Donna and Mickey disappeared out the door, and the Doctor leaned against the console, staring at Rose. His expression was stoic.

"I've missed you," she said, after a long while.

He nodded.

"And…" she said, searching. "Have you missed me?"

"Course I have, yeah," he answered, quickly.

She smiled. She approached him and rested her palm on his lapel. "You know, we never had a proper goodbye," she said. "Or a proper hello, for that matter."

"Probably best," he said.

"Stop being so cautious," she said. "I know what the consequences are – I've had a year and a half to think it over, and I've decided that I don't care." Suddenly, she grabbed him by the lapels, and pulled him in for a kiss. He was taken by surprise, and before he had any idea what was happening, his lips were pressed against hers and her arms were curling around his neck. His hands went to her arms and gently squeezed, in a half-hearted attempt to pry her away.

The kiss felt good, like this moment with Rose was well-earned, long-awaited. It was cathartic – that thing they'd never had when they were together, but had always both wanted. He couldn't deny himself that feeling, not even for the sake of other, greater concerns. He was a man, and this body had been more of a liability to him than any he'd had in the past, and he couldn't resist nor escape the pleasure, the slight euphoria, the stroking of his ego.

But all of that was largely unconscious and lasted for about five seconds. When Rose opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, he snapped back to reality, and realised just how stunned he had been. His body had responded to the gesture in a way that caused all of his senses to come crashing together at once, and his eyes flew open, and he began to pry her arms away from him in earnest.

When she reluctantly pulled away, he was left standing with his hands firmly on her shoulders, and all he could do was ask, "Rose, what are you doing?"

"Doctor, the danger has passed," she said. "You don't need her anymore."

He let go of her and crossed his arms over his chest. "Excuse me?"

"Donna is going to be fine," she told him. "It all worked out. Your time with Martha, well, it served its purpose. And now you don't need her anymore. Ironically, Martha's the one who wrote her own ticket out."

The Doctor's head swam with this blow. The only words he could find were expletives in one language or another, so he simply repeated Rose's words. "_Don't need her anymore?_"

"Yeah," she shrugged. "The reason you were with her was to save Donna, and as a result, yourself."

"Oh, is _that _why I was with her?" he asked. "Interesting interpretation."

"But the thing that was supposed to happen… Martha stopped it from happening."

"What was supposed to happen, Rose?"

"I guess there's no harm in telling you now," she said. She reached forward and pulled his tie out from behind his suit coat. She toyed with it as she spoke. "If you had spent this time travelling with Donna instead of Martha, it would have been _Donna_ trapped in the TARDIS and deposited into the Crucible's Z Neutrino core. Inside there, she would have touched the severed hand, which was swimming with the regeneration energy that you fed back into it…"

"…and it would have caused a metacrisis," he finished.

"Exactly," Rose said. "A two-way human-Time Lord metacrisis. A new _you_ would have grown out of the hand, only with many of Donna's personality traits, and Donna would have been doused with a healthy dollop of what's in that _huge_ Time Lord brain of yours..."

"…and ultimately I'd have had to wipe her mind of all traces of me, and send her home…"

"…because it's too much for a human to have a Time Lord inside." She said these words as she tugged at his tie with her chin upturned, her lips slack and her eyes set in bedroom mode.

He couldn't help himself. He had to ask again, "Rose, what are you doing?"

"Can't you see how that would have destroyed you?" she asked, tucking his tie back inside his jacket.

"Yes, I can," he replied, smoothing out his suit, taking one half-step away from her.

"That's why we didn't want Donna involved," she told him. "But it all turned out all right because Martha got rid of the hand for us. She used it to rescue us from those prison pod things."

"Well, isn't she clever?" the Doctor muttered.

"Oh, yeah. I don't think she _meant_ to pave the way for us, but she did," Rose said. "And nothing and no one saw it coming – none of the machines at Torchwood over on our side, none of the clairvoyants, developpers, the dimension cannon, nothing. I suppose our technology doesn't really have a sense of irony."

"I suppose not."

Rose sighed. "But Martha's brilliant, really," she said. "And she adores you. You can be glad of that."

"I am."

"We couldn't have got through this without her, that's for sure," she observed.

"That's true."

"So, I suppose you'll want to say goodbye," Rose said. "Closure – it's only fair to someone who loves you."

"You're absolutely right."


	35. In All Fairness

**Well, the story is winding down in the next few chapters, so I hope you feel a sense of closure here, because it won't be much longer! I also hope that you don't feel cheated out of your vindication scene... there should be enough Rose/Doctor/Martha/Mickey angst to chew on for a while without actually having to SEE how it all came crashing down. Enjoy!**

* * *

IN ALL FAIRNESS

The telephone in Martha Jones' pocket rang. "Hello?"

"Hi, it's me. Are you still at your parents' house?"

"Yeah, but my mum went to pick up my dad – he's coming back from Holland today. Ahead of schedule."

"So you're alone?"

"Yeah, she left about fifteen minutes ago. I was just having a sandwich, and then I was going to come back to the park."

"Actually, I'm not in the park anymore," the Doctor said. "Sorry, I know I said I wouldn't move, but we sort of had to get back to Chiswick in a hurry."

"It's okay," she said. "Long as you didn't leave town."

"Now that, I really wouldn't do."

"Where are you calling from?"

"The end of your block."

"What?"

"I sonicked a dead phone box back into working order. I mean one of those red ones. Not that anyone will want to use it…"

She went to the window and spied the TARDIS sitting across the street. She wondered why she hadn't heard it materialise. She must have been deep in thought. Or self-absorbed – whatever they're calling it now. "Why don't you just get a mobile like a normal person?"

"If you're going to ask and answer your own question in the same sentence, then what do you need me for?"

She sighed with a smile. "What do you want?"

"Is it all right if I come round?"

"Of course." Martha gulped. "Why?"

"I just need to see you."

"Is everything all right?" she asked, a little afraid of the answer.

"It got a little ugly, but it's fine. Everyone's fine. Or will be."

"What got ugly, exactly?"

"I'll see you in a minute." With that, he cut the line, and almost immediately, Martha saw a tall man with his hands shoved into his trench coat pockets coming round the corner looking sombre. Sombre but beautiful, and her stomach tingled with the thought of being alone with him again. It had only been about twenty-four hours since the Earth moved and the Dalek mêlée began, but considering the ride they'd had, it felt like eternity.

But almost in the same moment, she realised that there was every chance he was coming here to say goodbye. Back in the Crucible, she thought she could almost _see_ the switch that flipped in Rose's mind as she changed her position, and Martha had certainly seen her fire both barrels at the Doctor.

As he appeared at the bottom of the front steps, she opened the door. He smiled small with his mouth, but big with his eyes and came toward her without breaking a single stride. He walked into the house with authority, shut the door behind him and then pushed Martha against it. His hands found her cheeks and neck, his lips found her lips, and she sighed with relief as they both sank into a long but restrained, warm but desperate kiss.

When it was finally over and he pulled away, he saw that there was worry in her eyes, a great down-turn of her features, a pleading. He ran his thumb over her cheek and eyelids, brushed her hair out of her face. "You look horrified. What is that about?"

"I didn't mean to. I was just scared."

He sighed. "I guess I haven't been very clear, have I?"

She broke eye contact. "Not really."

"Yeah," he said, moving away a bit. "I've been learning that the hard way over the past hour and a half. Like I said – ugly. Guess I've still got a lot to learn about this relationship business."

Martha chuckled,. "Don't we all?"

"Well, let me be very, very clear," he said, taking her hands and looking her dead in the eye. "I love _you_, Martha Jones, and only you."

She burst into tears and covered her mouth and nose with her hands. This made him smile, in spite of himself.

Once again, he touched her face, her hair, wiped her tears, stroked her neck, her arms..."_You, _and no-one else. No ambiguity, no doubts, no hesitation."

"Oh my God," she sobbed.

"The best decision I ever made was to try and keep you in my life," he said, now choking up a bit himself. "Do you remember what you said to me a year ago?"

"No," she confessed.

"Well, I do – almost every word. And now, one year later, I can give you what you want. You are my favourite, the one I depend on. You are absolutely indispensible to me, and in all of that need and dependence, I am madly in love with you, and I couldn't live one more second without telling you. I feel so empty when you're not with me that I am almost non-functional and so on-fire when you _are _with me that I'm biting my fingers to keep from tearing your clothes off."

These words brought a new flood of tears from Martha.

"I promised that after one year, I would be honest with you," he whispered. "And that's as honest as I can get with words."

Martha took a minute to pull herself under control. Then she looked up and said, "You know I love you too, right?"

He nodded, smiled.

"But I have to ask," she said. "What happened with Rose?"

"I'll tell you after we're finished."

***

The TARDIS seemed a slightly more appropriate venue than her parents' house for what they had in mind. Certain things were simply not meant to happen in one's childhood bedroom, and besides, she wasn't sure when her parents would be back, and they didn't want to have to hurry.

But time could almost literally stand still inside the blue box, and so they took it sweetly. In all of their meanderings, in all of their intimacies and pleasures and heated moments within this vessel, this was the first real love to ring out in the air and corridors and chambers of the TARDIS in far too long.

Of course, it wasn't their first time, but it felt like a homecoming. It was a re-affirmation of their new life together, and it felt just right to confirm their feelings once and for all, then to make love in their own bed. London fluttered round outside, but there was no one in their world right now.

Only one thing was missing. As they lay together, cooling in the afterglow, he asked, "Do you still want to know?"

"If you want to tell," she answered.

"I want to tell," he said.

"I'm listening."

***

Rose Tyler stumbled out of the TARDIS and walked briskly to the edge of the sea, letting the salt water wash over her boots. She bent down and stuck her hands in the frigid water and smoothed her hair back with both palms.

Mickey Smith came through the door behind her, and joined her with his shoes in the water. "You okay?"

She stood straight up again and sighed. She paused, and looked at him squarely with her hands on her hips. "He called me _presumptuous._"

"Yeah, only after you called him worse. You got off light, babe. Besides, what _is _the word for when someone wrongly assumes their own importance?"

"Mickey, I'm serious!"

"So am I," he chuckled.

Rose opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

"I've texted your father," Jackie announced, exiting the blue box as well. "Told him to get Consuela to watch the baby, and to fly up here and get us – bloody Norway, the back of beyond."

"Where is the Doctor?" Rose asked. "He said he wanted to say goodbye."

"He will," Jackie said. "He said he had to take a few readings to make sure they could get back through to their own universe."

"Where's Martha?"

"Sweetie," Jackie lulled. "Just let it go."

Rose looked askance at Mickey.

He shrugged with amusement. "She's staying out of it, Rose. She's being smart, if you ask me." Mickey said.

"She's hiding from me, you mean," Rose grunted.

"No," Mickey said. "Staying out of it. There's a difference. I wish I could do the same, but unfortunately, I'm an inextricable part of this insane little soap opera, so here I am."

Once again, Rose put her hand on her hips in disgust. "Not hiding from me?" She scoffed and then pointed angrily at the TARDIS. "He's wearing a different suit than he was when he dropped us off in Chiswick!"

"Yeah, I noticed that, sweetheart," Jackie conceded, a tenor of irritation in her voice.

"You know why, don't you?" Rose asked her mum.

"Yes, Rose. Let. It. Go."

"He was in brown, now he's wearing blue. It's not even the same colour! He _wanted_ me to know! They both wanted me to know!" she insisted.

"You're being stupid," Mickey said bluntly. "The man's not allowed to change his clothes?"

"In the middle of the day?"

"Yes, Rose, in the middle of the day!" Mickey said, even more bluntly, and with his voice raised. "Maybe he got lucky. The best kind of lucky! The naked kind of lucky, and it wasn't with you! And then he put on different clothes, because _who knows_ what happened to the original suit! It happens every day in every country, probably on every planet in the universe, which does not happen to revolve around you, so _get the hell over it!_ It's done!"

"Ugh! Fucking Bad Wolf Bay," she spat, turning away from both of them. "Every time I come here, I wind up wanting to kill myself."

"Well, how did you think this was going to end?" Mickey asked, lowering his voice again.

"I thought…" she said, pushing her hair out of her face and staring out at the sea.

"What?" he asked.

"I just thought… I don't know, that…"

"Jesus, Rose, I'd thought you'd got past this," he said. "I thought you said you'd grown, and were resigned to your fate, and that you had considered all the options, and the Doctor is _supposed _to be with Martha Jones…"

"That was then," she said. "Circumstances have changed."

"Donna's safe," he said. "That's good. But it doesn't mean you have the right to change history."

"But _he does_," Rose insisted. "It's who he is! I thought…"

"…that as long as you were up for it, he'd automatically want to be with you, instead of the woman who's been by his side for almost three years? Even if it changed history."

"Well" she whined. "Is it _that_ crazy?"

"Yes, Rose!" he cried out, slightly losing his composure again. "It's barmy, and it makes you sound like a rotten, jealous ex! You're better than this. Besides, even if he felt that way, he'd be a right cad if he dropped her now for you, after all she's done."

"Love is supposed to transcend everything," she said flatly. "All the hardship and circumstances..."

"Maybe it is. Transcending all of that, I mean. Only with them, not with you."

"But I still love him," she said, her voice breaking. "How could he not still love me?"

Mickey threw up his hands in disgust and shot back, "I ask myself that same damn question every day, Rose. I have been asking it ever since you disappeared into that stupid blue box with the man in the leather jacket. And there is no good answer. Life is unfair and love is… just stupid. Believe me, after dealing with you this past year and a half, I wish to high heaven that I could turn it off, but I can't. And you can't either, so deal with it."

"It's not the same, Mickey," she sniffled.

"Isn't it? I love you, but you love him. You love him, but he loves her. It's rubbish, but life goes on. People go through this all the time, and they don't die. Just accept it, because otherwise you're going to make yourself miserable. And me."

"And you?"

"Yes," he sighed. "Of course me. You _know_ I'll be there for you, in spite of my better judgement."

Jackie just watched the two of them, her eyes wide as saucers. She had no idea what to say, so she resolved simply to comfort her daughter.

Mickey looked at Rose, sobbing with great convulsions into her mother's shoulder. All that time at Torchwood before she'd come across to guide Martha Jones back into the Doctor's life, all that time looking for the two of them in London, fighting with the Doctor on the Crucible, Rose had been very brave, and had been a _big_ person. She had shown growth and maturity, had demonstrated that she could go on living even if she didn't get her way. He now realised how truly thin her resolve had been, and how much she had been keeping pent up. He knew she'd been sincere about wanting the Doctor to be happy with Martha for his own sake, but bottling up her feelings had obviously taken its toll.

If it meant saving the Doctor, she could do anything. But once she'd decided to let her feelings loose, there might be no pushing them back in – the only remedy now was time.

He understood that pent-up feeling, being brave and wanting to burst with jealousy and anger. He felt that way, still, just a little, whenever he was around the Doctor. He knew that Rose wanted the two of them to be friends, so he made friends. But all the while, there was the underlying resentment, no matter how much he respected the Doctor.

He just had a better handle on his emotions than Rose did.

Almost as if on cue, she pushed away from her mum, and bent and picked up a rock and hurled it into the ocean with a great, frustrated cry.

Mickey sighed. "Rose, you need to calm down and show a little dignity. How will it look if he comes out here to say goodbye and you're throwing things and screaming?"

She looked at him as if to tell him to get bent, but whatever she was about to say died on her tongue. She turned and stared out at the horizon and wiped her tears. This is how she looked when the TARDIS door opened.

The Doctor stepped out and stopped.

Mickey walked up to him and shook his hand. "I saw you crack the door open a few minutes ago."

"Timing is everything," the Doctor replied. "No-one knows that better than me."

"Thanks for waiting, mate. She wouldn't have wanted you to see her like that."

"Sure."

"Er, I reckon I'd better go say goodbye to Martha," Mickey said loud enough for Rose to hear. "We've had a harrowing journey together."

"You'll find her in the kitchen," the Doctor said. "She's making tea."

"I could go for some tea," Jackie said, scurrying back into the police box with Mickey.

The wind whipped across Bad Wolf Bay, blowing Rose's hair out of her vision, and revealing the Doctor, in his blue suit, standing silently.

"A real goodbye this time," she said to the ocean. "For so long, that was something I thought I'd never have from you."

He didn't say anything.

"I thought it would either be left the way it was," she said, and then her voice caught, and she took a deep breath to stop from crying. "Or there would be only hello, and then forever."

"Life has a funny way," he said.

She turned and faced him. "Don't patronise me. I'm not your bloody protégée anymore, you can't talk to me like a child."

"Well," he said, taking a few steps toward her. "You've sort of been acting like one."

"Bollocks."

"Rose, you threw a socket wrench at me."

"I'm sorry about that."

"You kicked the console and damaged the precision coordinates circuit," he said. "Going to be difficult to aim the TARDIS for a while."

"I said I was sorry."

"And you called me a lot of names. You're lucky I'm not going to tell your mum about that mouth of yours."

"I was angry."

"And you said I never cared about you," he said softly. "You accused me of abandoning you on purpose. You said that I used you. Name calling and mild violence I can let go, but saying things like that..."

She convulsed with sobs. After today, he wanted no more crying for a long, long time, he decided.

After a pause during which she cried and contemplated her wet boots, she asked, "But... we were... I don't understand how this happened. I thought..."

"Let's not go down that road again," he told her. "We've already hashed it out, now let's just say goodbye like two proper friends ought to."

"I'm not your friend," she wept. "I never wanted to be your _friend_."

"Fair enough," he said, taking a step back. "Then thank you for all of your efforts, Miss Tyler. Your help in this most recent crisis was most valuable, and I shall be grateful for your hard work. Now, I'll be on my way." He stepped forward and offered her his hand to shake.

She didn't move. She just stared at him in disbelief. After a few moments of staring, the Doctor lost his mettle, dropped his hand. A pause, then he asked, "Are you going to let me do this properly, or are you going to fight me?"

She couldn't speak.

"Are you my friend, or a stranger? I can send you off either way – I know which I'd prefer."

She gasped again, catching her breath. "Your friend."

"All right then," he said. He took two steps forward and closed the space between them. As he hugged her, he felt her jolting in his arms, again convulsing with tears and sadness. In spite of the very dark side of Rose he'd seen this afternoon, he ached for her. He knew how she felt because he'd felt that way when they'd been separated, and again when he thought the TARDIS and Martha had been killed... and now he was putting her through it again.

Several minutes later, she stopped crying and pulled away. The TARDIS made a little hum in warning.

"I have to go, Rose," he said. "This reality is sealing itself off forever."

"It's still not right," she whined.

"No, it's not," he agreed. "It's not fair, any of it. You and me and Martha and Mickey, we've all made each other miserable, and why? Bad timing. That's all it ever was – bad timing. You and me, meeting when we did, your dad grabbing you when he did, Martha coming into my life when she did, you coming _back_ into my life when you did..."

"Maybe the universe was against us from the start," she said.

"Maybe. But I never was," he said. "I'm not against us."

"Just... past us."

He nodded sadly.

"All right," she said. "If that's true, then answer me this. When I last stood on this beach, on the worst day of my life, what was the last thing you said to me?"

He was at a loss. He knew what she wanted, but he wasn't sure he wanted to give it.

"Go on, say it," she demanded.

"I said _Rose Tyler._"

"Yeah, and how was that sentence going to end?"

He sighed. "Does it need saying?"

"If you're going to give me a proper goodbye, if you're going to do this right, even if it's not true anymore... just tell me what you were going to say."

He took a deep breath and resisted the urge to look back at the TARDIS. "I was going to say that I love you."

She exhaled and closed her eyes. "Thank you," she said. And then she hugged him again, tightly. She felt different this time, much more relaxed, and not jerking in spasms of tears. He actually bent and kissed the top of her head, and she said, "I just needed to know."

He nodded, but she didn't see.

When she pulled away again, she was not crying anymore.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked.

"Of course, yeah," she said, nodding a bit too emphatically.

"I _am_ sorry, Rose," he assured her. "I'm sorry if I hurt you."

She continued nodding. "I know you are," she whispered. "Now go make it worth it."

He smiled. "Thanks," he said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. He turned and walked slowly back to the blue box, and she watched. As he opened the door, he looked back and said, "Goodbye, Rose."

"Bye," she squeaked, giving a little wave.

A minute later, Mickey and Jackie emerged, and the TARDIS disappeared from Bad Wolf Bay.

Jackie stroked Rose's arm. "I'm not sure what to say, dear."

"How about _let's get the hell off this beach?_" suggested Rose.


	36. Epilogue

**An ending just felt right here. After all, what better way to establish the Doctor's feelings than to resolve his Bad Wolf Bay issues? There can't be much more to say about his future with Martha after that, and so this is it. This is the final chapter of Not Better, Just Different. This has been the most difficult thing I've ever written, and much like the Doctor, I had no idea what I was in for when I began! But I have loved it, and it has been very satisfying to create.**

**I felt that the final chapter should demonstrate a full-circle effect, and should harken back to earlier chapters in which dreams and symbols ruled the lives of our heroes. I hope you feel good about it, and that you can look at the future of the Doctor and Martha with encouragement and contentment!**

**Thank you for reading. Really.**

* * *

EPILOGUE

"How do you feel?" Martha asked, having watched the Doctor trudge slowly up the ramp, fire up the TARDIS to depart shakily through to the other side of the dimensional retro-closing walls, then sit pensively upon the navigator's chair. She came carefully round to face him and leaned against the console. She didn't get too close, as she didn't want to crowd him, but _something_ had to be said. She had heard everything, so there was no need to ask how it went, or was Rose okay. She knew it had gone as well as could be expected and that Rose would be fine if Mickey could look after her and continue to keep her grounded.

What she cared about now, and what she didn't know, was how the Doctor felt. She guessed he must be feeling quite torn right now, but who was she to assume the heart of a Time Lord?

After a delay, he looked at her and smiled softly. "I feel all right."

"It's okay if you're not all right," she said.

"I know," he shrugged. "But I am."

"I can handle it if you're feeling conflicted," she assured him. "You can tell me - it's what I'm here for."

"No, this is the least conflicted I've felt in a long time," he told her, beaming at her, marvelling at how beautiful she looked.

"Okay. That's good, I guess."

"I mean, that's not to say that I won't always carry her with me – everything she was, said, did..."

Martha nodded. "We always carry a part of the people we've loved. Even if they throw wrenches at us and kick things."

He exhaled through pursed lips. "That was scary. I had never seen that side of her! And the bit about the colour of my suit…"

"Well, you'd told me she wasn't complete yet," Martha offered. "All that time, I thought she'd grown up, but I guess she's still got some ground to cover."

"I guess I was right, then."

"You usually are," she said, smiling.

"Well, I talk a good game," he protested. "But I'm more bluster than bang."

"Not to me," she said, stepping forward. He opened his arm and took her in against him. She grasped him tightly around his middle, and closed her eyes. She felt him lean forward and adjust the TARDIS controls with one hand, without ever letting go of her. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"On holiday," he said. "We never finished the first one."

"Mmm, lovely," she sighed.

"How do you fancy a jaunt to France?"

"France?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Sure. Any time period you like. I personally am fond of the pre-Bourbon countryside, but it's all up to you."

"I don't mind," she said. "It's just funny how all roads seem to lead there."

* * *

_Martha and the Doctor held hands and strolled through the Cimetière de Passy_._ They could see rain clouds gathering above, but they were all right with that – a little rain could be refreshing._

"_And a lot of rain can be downright beautiful," the Doctor said, smiling broadly. She blushed when he looked at her, and she averted her eyes coyly. "It's poetic, even. The Earth and her moisture oscillate between the air and the sky, building heat and pressure. And when it becomes too much, there's the release. It's cathartic, like a flower blooming."_

_She tingled pleasantly as he spoke, looking forward to the oncoming storm._

_But when she looked around, she was reminded that they were surrounded by the dryness, the stone coldness of death. "We can't be here in the cemetery when the rain comes," she said. _

"_You're right," he said. "Wouldn't be proper."_

_But they didn't hurry. Commemorating the lives of people who had left their mark upon the world, and then passed, was not a job to be hastily done. Each soul marked here deserved its due, and the Doctor and Martha silently read names as they moved through the cemetery, and occasionally, when they recognised one, they would look at each other and smile with kindred acceptance. Gabriel Fauré, Edouard Manet, Claude Debussy, Berthe Morisot… they had been great figures, and their works would be felt throughout time immemorial, but they were gone. Their time had passed, and the world now keeps special places for them in the museums and books and symphony orchestras of the world._

"_I've always loved Manet's work," Martha mused._

"_Yeah?" the Doctor asked, looking at her with amusement. "I'd never have pegged you for a Manet fan. _Luncheon on the Grass,_ quite scandalous, Miss Jones."_

_She smiled. "Scandalous – don't be silly. I've been to France before, walked among the greats, mourned their passing," she said. "And I'm a better person for it."_

"_So I have learned," he said, his spine tingling in remembrance. "Me, I'm partial to Berthe Morisot."_

"_I know you are," she said, squeezing his hand. "I think that's sweet."_

"_There's an innocence in her work, images of children and untouched meadows, skies with clouds only just beginning to gather," he mused._

_He turned his head and found Martha looking back at him with a mixture of admiration, questioning and expectation. _

"_I mean," he amended. "It doesn't have the symbolism or Georgia O'Keeffe or the violent complexity of Artemisia Gentileschi, but it doesn't need to. It's not what Morisot was about."_

"_Very well put," Martha admitted._

_And still, it wasn't proper to think on the old greats in the rain. The storm was coming – there was no avoiding it, and the travellers needed to move along. _

_At last, the Doctor and Martha saw an opening in the long wall that surrounded the cemetery, and they headed toward it, toward Rue Paul Doumer and the Trocadéro station._

_As they stepped out onto the street, the Doctor looked down at Martha and smiled. He said, "I love Paris, don't you?"_

"_Oh yes," she sighed as she leaned into him and he obliged her with a kiss. They lingered for a moment, their lips dancing together in tentative _pas de deux_, still a bit bothered by the proximity of rain and death._

_The kiss broke softly, and he moved his lips gently across her cheek toward her ear. "Let's move on," he whispered. His breath was hot against her skin, and it was a coup to her senses._

_The street was alive with gentlefolk, going about their daily lives, going to their jobs, thinking of their families, doing the things that people do. It was the stuff of true life, and Martha and the Doctor felt they were in the presence of true love._

_And as they rounded the corner at the Palais de Chaillot, the view took her breath away. She gasped a little, but said nothing, only stared, at a loss for words. He smiled at her, feeling purely happy._

_The Eiffel Tower was framed by the two perfect sides of the palais, and the short marble avenue was lined with silent golden statues. _

_And then the heavens opened up, and the rain came. They had never felt the sprinkles, only the beginnings of an insistent storm, followed by a wild torrent. They were not deterred, and walked forward toward the balcony where the view was perfect. Paris in the rain._

_After a time, the Doctor asked, "Would you like to take shelter?"_

"_Never," she replied._

* * *

The rain poured behind Martha's eyes and the ghosts of yesterday rested behind them. The Time Lord and his human love slumbered entwined in both flesh and conscience, sleeping an unsheltered sleep.


End file.
